The Last One Standing
by definitelywalkerbait
Summary: She had outlived all the other women from the original Atlanta group. She was the last one standing. Who could have seen that? Set after 3x16. Drabbles. Disclaimer: The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended. Chapter 48: Falling In Love
1. The Last One Standing

**Summary**: She had outlived all the other women from the original Atlanta group. She was the last one standing. Who could have seen that?

_Hey, everyone!_

_How great it is that Carol made it to season 4 outliving so many other characters?_

_This is a one-shot of her dealing with it and Daryl supporting her._

_There's a chance I'll turn this into a series of incoherent drabbles, I'll think about it._

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

What caught his attention was the way Glenn narrowed his eyes in concentration staring at the fence. He followed his gaze only to see Carol walking purposely in that direction, a metal pipe in one hand and her machete in the other. Last time he had seen her, she was helping the newcomers from Woodbury settle in the cell block.

She stopped a few inches away from the fence, evidently waiting for the walkers to gather. Then she raised the pipe. One down. Two. Three. Woman was right on target. He felt a swell of pride twitching in his chest. Four. Five.

Tossing the pipe, Carol unlocked the gate and walked straight into two last stray walkers swinging the machete in their heads with strength and determination that made both Daryl and Glenn wince at once, effectively smashing them with a single blow to each. That was weird. What the hell was she up to now? Six. Seven. In a matter of seconds. She rested her hands in her hips, blood staining her clothes and dripping from the machete. Her eyes were scanning the place for more of them close to the fence. When she didn't find any, she shook her head in disappointment and stepped back inside the yard, locking the gate behind her.

Furrowing his brow, he headed towards her with long, fast strides. Getting herself killed under his watch wasn't something she was allowed to do.

By the time he reached her, she was leaning heavily against the fence, fingers wrapped around the metal wire, shoulders hunched. Something was wrong in her stance, but if she cried, he couldn't tell definitively.

"What's wrong?" he cut straight to the chase.

She gasped at the sound of his voice and wiped her eyes quickly. His hunting skills made him unnoticeable when he wanted to sneak up on her. Having Daryl come to check on someone was a rare honor; still, she'd much rather stay alone right now.

"Nothing. I just wanted to take off some tension. Long day…"

His first reaction was to spin around and walk away, but he only shifted nervously on his feet. He had caught the tears rolling and although she hadn't turn to face him, he could see from his standing point that her cheeks were stained from older ones. She must have been crying silently for a while here.

"And what else?" he offered again despite himself.

His persistence touched her. It wasn't like Daryl to pursue a small talk about feelings. She'd bet he would bolt at her first refusal of anything being wrong.

"Andrea is dead…" she said flatly.

He nodded. "Got bit. We didn't make it there in time."

It was her turn to nod now.

He kept casting peeks at her. It was more than that, he could tell. People around them were dropping like flies, but going into a walker killing spree wasn't like Carol, it was more like something he'd do.

"And what else?" he kept pushing.

She snorted a humorless laugh shaking her head.

"Come on, spit it out," he encouraged her.

He raised his hand and curled his fingers around the fence, mimicking her grip, but tilted his torso slightly towards her and watched her cautiously. He had no idea what the hell he was still doing here, it was obvious she didn't want to talk. But, maybe, it was precisely that. This entire behavior was so unusual for Carol, he just couldn't turn his back and walk away. So he waited.

She swallowed hard, narrowing her eyes. Her gaze still darting faraway, her lips pressed in a thin, grim line. It took her forever to collect herself to the point she'd be able to open her mouth without burst into sobbing. And he was still there, lingering by her side. She didn't really know how to describe this suffocating lump in her throat whatsoever. How could she explain this kind of loneliness? It wasn't even loneliness, it was something else. Some kind of void raising deep inside her, threatening to devour her, that was impossible to articulate. She exhaled the air she had been holding. There was no way to put it into words. It didn't even make sense. She was being irrational having this outburst and she knew it; she just couldn't help herself.

"I'm the last one standing," she whispered with trembling voice.

"What?" Now he was lost. Not a clue what she was talking about.

"From the women from our original group, back in Atlanta. I outlived them all," she elaborated a bit.

"So?" he stared at her intensely.

"Who could have foreseen that a year ago? What were the chances of that happening?" She could feel his eyes digging holes in her face.

"So? You feel guilty for surviving?" He was effectively getting angry now. Carol never talked this kind of crap these days; she had grown strong and confident, nothing reminding of the meek, needy woman who was whining about being a burden.

She grunted and turned to meet his eyes. He was glaring down at her now, his brow frowned.

"Oh, please…" she shook her head in disbelief.

"What?" he hissed.

"I've made a habit of getting saved. This is hardly surviving." She knew she was flirting with the chance of getting her ass kicked now. She also knew that she was much more self-degrading than she actually deserved; she just couldn't help herself.

"You are not alive because you got saved; you are alive because you are a survivor," he mumbled trying to control his frustration.

"I can't believe I outlived them all…" she closed her eyes, bowing her head and fighting tears back.

"Are you crazy?" he snarled angrily. His jaw was clenched; he was trying really hard not to lash out at her.

The incredulous, hurt look he received when her head snapped at the sound of his words grounded him. She didn't need him to give her any shit right now. She gave herself enough.

He sighed and turned his back to the fence to get a better look at her. Since he wasn't going anywhere, he would try his best to stay calm.

"Ok, let's see…" he started. God, he'd really do this, wouldn't he? "Amy had the worst luck in the world, got bit out of nowhere. Jacqui opted out in CDC. Andrea would have done the same back then, if it wasn't for Dale. Lori knew how to fight and had Rick and Shane hovering all around her and still didn't know any better than to get herself pregnant in the middle of all this shit. And Andrea's choices brought this shit to herself; she could have stayed here when she found us; she could have followed your advice and slash his throat in his sleep…"

"Or she could have let me die when the farm was overrun and never get separated from the group in the first place," she interrupted him.

"Oh, don't go drag me into this getting saved crap now!" he said losing his patience again. "Andrea had her fair share of getting saved as well. Hell, we all have. That's what we do, we save each other and that's what keeps us alive, for as long as it does. You have saved all of us enough times."

"Not Sophia." her voice cracked.

"Stop it," he said firmly, feeling a growing knot in his stomach. Sophia was off topic. Too painful. After almost a year, it was still too fucking painful. "That was bigger than all of us."

Her chin trembled at the memory of her sweet daughter, fresh tears welling up in her eyes, but she remained silent.

Suddenly, all his anger vanished and he felt the urge to drag her in his arms and let her cry in his neck.

"Shit, Carol," he sighed, kicking the dirt in the ground beneath his boot. "You are more of a survivor than any of us. You were nothing but a punch bag to that asshole husband of yours when hell broke loose. And then you smashed his head with that pickaxe. You lost your daughter and still didn't give up. You didn't even consider opting out, you just kept pushing forward. You learned how to fend for yourself and defend the group; you were in the fuckin' tombs this morning shooting at the Governor's soldiers, dammit!"

She kept quiet, but he could say his words were slowly reaching her; her breath was getting more stable now. So he kept talking.

"You are the only person here able to cook a decent meal. You know details about each one on us, treating every person in the group differently. That kind of shit make a difference, they bring a sense of normalcy in this fuckin' world. You are the glue that keeps us together. Tougher than the toughest man I've ever met", he was almost yelling at her, but his voice wasn't hard, it sounded… pleading?

Whatever it was he said that flipped the switch in her heard, it was working; he could tell. She finally turned to face him, offering a weak smile; but a smile nonetheless.

They shared a long look. How could he tell her that he hated it when she spoke like this? That something was twisting inside his gut every time she cried? That he'd always do anything in his power to keep her alive? That he needed her alive? "We all know how this ends. Odds are sooner or later we're all gonna die. Someone from the original group would outlive the rest. It's you," he stated simply, knowing well that death wasn't something intimidating to her any more. But before he could stop himself, "I'm glad it's you," he blurted out.

Shit, why did he say that one? He felt his cheeks blushing. There was a reason Dixons didn't do feelings, it was because they sucked at it. He should have left from the beginning; no, he should have never come out here in the first place. What was he supposed to do now? Now that she was looking at him so sweetly he felt his fuckin' heart flutter, skipping beats. Maybe he would finally have a heart attack and save himself from the embarrassment after all.

"And you are good with all these feelings crap, but I'm not. So do me a favor and stop beating yourself. Just start following your smartass advices you give all the time to everyone and you'll be fine." Couldn't he just shut the fuck up already? He pursued his lips stubbornly, keeping his eyes downcast to avoid her gaze.

She was taking in his words, grateful for everything he said, for the comfort he was offering, for wanting her alive. She loved him; she knew it for a while now and in rare moments like this, she even thought that somehow, beyond any hope, he was reciprocal. Seeing how awkward his own speech had made him, she decided to save him from himself. And she knew exactly the right way to do so; a little teasing and he'd be running so fast he wouldn't have time to think.

"Wow…" she said, "I'm so great, people should loathe me."

He opened his mouth to scold her big time, but she caught him.

"I'm kidding. Thank you, Daryl. And I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Apparently my rant is upsetting you."

"Just… Stop this shit," his voice sounded huskier than he wanted.

"Yes, sir! I just had a moment of weakness here. Can't always be a tough cookie, like you." Her smile was brighter now and a playful tone crept in her voice.

"I'm no cookie," he scowled. Shit… Would she start teasing him now? "And moments like this can get you killed."

"I still have my nine lives, don't I?" She beamed at him.

"Yeah, you wish! With the rate you've been spending them around, I'd bet you are down to six, maybe five by now," he accused.

She became serious again. It meant the world to her that he had been counting.

"Just allow me to be a little taken aback that I'm the one who survived the longest, ok?"

He nodded. "Better get back. We've done enough talking for a month." He was fidgeting now, looking really eager to disappear.

"You're so into me, Dixon, you can't even help yourself. I flip for a second and you lose your mind", she fired.

Anger sparkled in his eyes. "Next time you start whining around, I'm gonna let you put your shit together by yourself," he barked already walking away with Carol in his tail.

"What? I need comfort and you're throwing me a tantrum?" she protested, giggling.

He shook his head opening up his gait. "You're such a pain in the ass."

"Wouldn't have me any other way, would you?" she laughed, finally allowing him to put some distance between them.

No, he wouldn't. He had to make sure she'd outlive them all. Freaking world needed her smile. But, she could never know.

* * *

_Thank you for reading! I'd be happy to have your reviews!_

_"Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten."_  
― _Neil Gaiman, Coraline _


	2. Two Graves

**Summary:** He loved Merle, even if Carol was the only one among them who seemed to get it, he loved his brother.

_Sooo… drabbles it is then!_

_Thank you all for your kind words! :) I love the feedback!_

_This story is also set after the season finale._

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"We bury our own," Rick had stated sternly, when a body wrapped up in sheets was unloaded from the back of the truck. Everyone knew whom this body belonged to. It wasn't hard to figure, seeing Michonne's devastated figure slumped across the passenger's seat.

Carol walked closer to her, offering a hand. Michonne shot an exploratory look through narrowed eyes, before taking it hesitantly. She was the resilient type, not much of a public demonstration person whether it came down to grief or affection and Carol knew it already from their brief acquaintance. Still, she was a woman suffering a loss and comfort was very high now in her list of priorities. When Michonne took her hand, Carol didn't move closer, didn't try to reduce the distance between them, or hug her, or throw in any compassionate, cliché words of wisdom; she just squeezed her palm gently and brushed it with her thumb, supporting her way out of the truck, more mentally than actually physically.

"You belong with us, you know that. We'll get through this, too. That's what we do," she eyed her gently, yet confidently.

The squeeze she received in reciprocation along with the light nod told her that the black woman in front of her valued her succinct words. "Thank you," she whispered simply and headed towards the direction her friend's dead body had disappeared.

Carol watched her walk away warily. She knew her type; Michonne was shielding and protecting a noble heart under a stone shell. That's what had kept her alive all along and she was still pondering on whether shrugging it off and opening up to their group was the smart choice to make. Looking menacing and lethal, even sincerely being so, was her self defense, but there was much more than that inside this woman, Carol could tell.

She could tell because she was irrevocably in love with someone from her kind and had spent over a year trying to decipher him; trying to figure out what every glare, frown, twitch and expression meant. And yestrday, she had been rewarded. When he returned without his brother, with red-rimmed, swollen eyes, hunched shoulders and broken to the core, Carol was the only one who could get close enough without being barked at. After a few hours of sharing the same space in deep silence, his body started shuddering under his unbearable grief and it was only then that she had shuffled closer to him, wrapping her arms around him without as much as a word and held him tightly. Despite his instinctive reaction to yank away, she had kept her firm embrace, refusing to disentangle herself from him, trusting him blindly and maybe even beyond any reason and her better judgment that he would never, never, even in his darkest hour of sorrow and rage, hurt her in any way and, ultimately, she managed to outpower his feeble resistance. Only seconds later, he had finally let his guard down completely and melted in her arms, sobbing violently in the crook of her neck, while she was stroking his hair, rocking him back and forth and cooing to him like a child. The fury with which he had snuggled against her, clinging desperately to her fragile figure, choking incomprehensible words of overwhelming pain, wetting her shirt with burning tears and almost suffocating her in his muscled grip, had her still wondering now, a day later, whether the sharp pain that pierced her side every time she inhaled deeply or made an abrupt move was a cracked rib.

Daryl was casting peeks towards Carol, spying cautiously on her while she watched Michonne reaching the prison and getting out of sight. Rick, Glenn and he had been talking about all the things that needed to be arranged. Help the newcomers from Woodbury settle in the cell block and prepare Andrea for the funeral needed to be immediately settled. Thinking of ways to provide food for all the additional mouths, securing another block and evaluating the overall situation could wait for tomorrow. A good night's sleep, the first one in a while, could work miracles to clear their heads. His fist curled begrudgingly and the conversation around him tuned out when he saw Tyreese addressing to her, waving towards the building, and her leaning forward to answer him with a sweet smile, but he dragged himself back to reality when she started making her way towards them.

"What happened with the Governor?" she asked anxiously. He hated the fear that was spread across her face. It made him feel powerless and altogether useless.

"Nowhere to be found. He fled, killed most of his men," Rick said, shaking his head. She gasped, bringing a hand in her mouth. Carol knew he was a lunatic, cold blooded killer, but being capable of such an atrocity as executing his own people, was simply evading her grasp. Plus, he was still out there, possibly seeking retaliation.

"Are we in danger?" she pushed again.

"No. At least not for a while," Glenn said reassuringly.

"We take care of Andrea and the people from Woodbury right now, worry about the rest later," Rick gave her a tired smile.

Carol fidgeted. There was more she wanted to ask.

"What's wrong?" Daryl frowned. It was evident something had been bugging her. He had noticed the moment he hopped off his motorcycle.

She squinted at him, but finally turned to face Rick.

"You said we bury our own. You're right, we do. But out there, there's still one of us who needs to be taken care of and offered a proper burial," her voice was calm, but firm. "He killed some of the Governor's best men and died giving us a fighting chance. As far as this group is concerned, he redeemed himself," her eyes now drifted to Glenn's bowed head. "We can't just let him rot out in the open, he is one of us."

Daryl clenched his jaw, his gaze lingering on her face. That's all he wanted and didn't even know how to tell any of them. He was planning to go bury Merle's body where he had found him tomorrow, but deep down he wanted his brother buried right here, close to him, to his blood and his family. Merle wasn't as lucky as Daryl was to have all these people care about him and even though he had brought it on himself, Daryl still wished there was a place in their humble graveyard for him. His brother was the only true bond Merle had ever known. Listening to Carol negotiating his final resting place, claiming redemption on his behalf, made him grateful. He knew she was standing up for him right now.

"You're right; of course," Rick nodded in accordance, whirling his head in Daryl's direction. "We can go collect his body right now, there's plenty of time before the sun sets."

Daryl just nodded, not trusting himself to say anything with that lump stuck in his throat. Rick and Glenn walked away towards the truck, allowing them a brief moment of privacy. Carol kept her eyes downcast to let him compose himself. She knew she had embarrassed him defending Merle's post mortem place in the group like this. What she didn't know was that all he wanted was to hug her and thank her and tell her that her kindness for his brother meant everything to him, that nobody had ever offered Merle a chance to truly belong somewhere and that he was deeply moved she was the one to do so. But he didn't know how to show affection and words were always failing him, so he just put a trembling hand on her shoulder, leaning heavily on her to keep himself steady. He was convinced she was the one person in the world that could support his weight. All of it.

She tilted her head to meet him, unshed tears glistening behind the fan of her eyelashes. They locked eyes and shared a long look, silent messages going back and forth between them.

"May I come with you?" she requested softly, covering the hand on her shoulder with hers.

He shook his head. "No," he turned down her offer gently, his voice hoarse and unstable. "It's still not safe out there." He couldn't risk anything happening to her. They still didn't know where the Governor had nested to lick his wounds and she had to stay alive at any price. He just needed her to. Only he couldn't find the proper way to let her know.

She nodded in understanding, but her lips twitched nervously as she swallowed her disappointment. Her biggest fear was that he would shut her out, when all she wanted was to hold his hand through his devastating grief. Surprisingly enough, he saw right through her.

"We'll be gone for less than an hour," he offered. "Will you help me when we get back?"

They both knew what he meant. Daryl had no idea of how to prepare Merle for the funeral, but he wouldn't let anyone else get the job done. Not even Hershel and Rick. Dixons took care of their own. He knew Carol could understand that asking for her help in that particular task, was his way of letting her know that he had left the door wide open for her, that he didn't want to be alone any more.

"Of course," she smirked sadly. And then he was gone, leaving her shoulder still burning from his touch.

* * *

That night, Maggie and Michonne cleaned and prepared Andrea's body for the burial. Daryl and Carol did the same for Merle.

* * *

Thick, grey clouds were floating in the sky the next morning, as they all gathered around the freshly dug graves waiting to envelope their dead ones with the first sunlight. A few of the newcomers had joined them in an attempt to integrate in the group. Hershel gave a touching, heartfelt speech and Michonne and Daryl shoveled dirt over Andrea's and Merle's bodies alone, as they wanted. Maggie and Beth cried in Glenn's shoulders and Rick had a grim expression on his face, cradling his daughter. Lori, T, Axel, Andrea and Merle were all together now, resting in peace.

Carol had allowed some distance between herself and the others, remaining a step behind during the ceremony, wiping away stray tears, but keeping her body upright. She had her gaze fixed on him the entire time, her eyes never darting around. She hated this bleak world, the world that had so mercilessly deprived him of his brother in the same dreadful, vicious and relentless way it had ripped Sophia off her arms, but she was determined to be a rock for him. A hand stayed inside the pocket of her coat, protecting the precious gift she was saving for him only, unwilling to let the others get a glimpse of it. He was the only one who could understand and appreciate the gesture.

Finally, one by one, they started drifting away, returning back to the prison to resume their everyday duties and take care of innumerable minor issues demanding a solution. The world was still moving and they were alive, despite the hot breath of loss and death in the back of their necks. No one dared to offer more than an encouraging pat in the shoulder to Daryl and Michonne and they kept their heads dipped. Only Rick bent over Michonne to remind her that they were all there for anything she needed and shared a compassionate look with his best friend. Carol had given him an approving smile.

They were the last ones beside the graves. Michonne was kneeled next to Andrea's, silent tears streaming down her face, a soft whimper escaping her lungs every now and then. Daryl had a gloomy expression, his internal turmoil engraved across his distorted face, but he hadn't let a single tear to slip.

Carol eventually stepped closer to him, revealing a hand holding a Cherokee rose. "This one bloomed for your brother. And for you", she whispered. He reached out to take it, tears welling up to blur his vision for the first time since the night before. He brushed his calloused fingers against her delicate skin for much longer than necessary, deriving courage and strength from her presence.

He approached slowly his brother's grave and gently placed the rose by the wooden cross, fixing the dirt around it. He loved Merle, even if Carol was the only one among them who seemed to get it, he loved his brother. When he came back to her, wiping his eyes and avoiding hers, she shifted nervously on her feet, not knowing what to do. But the second she started turning around to let him grieve alone, his hand snapped and his fingers curled around her wrist to keep her in place.

"Stay," he pleaded, his eyes digging holes in hers.

She took his hand in hers, intertwined their fingers and stared at them for a never ending moment. He lifted his free hand to tilt her chin up and meet her eyes.

"Stay forever," his voice a husky, imperceptible whisper. His heart was pounding, throbbing in his ears. That was as clear as he could be about his feelings for her. He wanted her there and he wanted her forever. He had stripped his heart completely and was now waiting for her answer, hoping that she wouldn't toss his crude, unrefined love away, that she was fool enough to take him.

Carol hesitated only for a moment, not because she wasn't sure about her answer, but because what she found in his wide eyes left her dumbfounded. His feelings were mirrored crystal clear in his intense gaze and it seemed as if his life depended on that answer. Her heart fluttered with happiness, as the realization that she meant to him as much as he meant to her sank in her; everything.

"I'm not going anywhere," she smiled softly bringing the back of his hand in her lips the moment his free hand cupped her cheek. "This is where we belong."

They turned to face the graves of their beloved ones and stayed there for a while, motionless and silent, shoulders touching and fingers laced, until the first drops of the rain started to fall. Belonging.

_This was it…_

_I'm crying after writing this one. Carol and Daryl will be the death of me :(_

_Thank you for reading. Your reviews would be extremely appreciated!_

5


	3. Blood (Part I)

**Summary: **Difficult as it might have been to drive the vehicle steadily with only one hand on the wheel, Daryl did his best to keep his eyes focused on the road ahead them, snuggling her against his tensed body with his other hand. Time was menacingly ticking inside his head.

_Hey, everyone!_

_Thank you all for the great reviews, I can't begin to tell you how much your support means to me!_

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy! _

* * *

_Twenty minutes earlier_

He slammed on the gas pedal harder, to the point he thought he may actually break it and felt a piercing pain climbing up his thigh. The truck was almost flying on the road, wheels barely touching the ground, but as the speedometer hit one hundred miles per hour, it felt like they were moving ridiculously slow, never reaching their destination. Difficult as it might have been to drive the vehicle steadily with only one hand on the wheel, Daryl did his best to keep his eyes focused on the road ahead them, snuggling her against his tensed body with his other hand. Time was menacingly ticking inside his head.

"Take your foot off the gas, before you get me killed, Daryl," she murmured against his neck. "I'm supposed to cook dinner tonight."

Damn woman. "If you can do it better, feel free to take over," he snarled, silently wishing she could actually do that.

"The brakes are right there… Remind me to show you later," her voice was fading with every passing minute, but she kept teasing him.

"Shut up, smartass," he scolded her.

"Car accidents in the middle of the apocalypse are so not cool. Walkers will get to us before the firemen do," she whispered.

"We're almost there," he ignored her. "Hang on," hitting the gas again and cussing under his breath. She was bleeding out fast, his own arm and clothes were soaked in her blood.

Shit. It had been a good day, they were actually having fun. When did everything go south?

* * *

_Earlier that day_

They had gone for a supply run. Carol was all over the place, chatting happily and hanging her head out of the passenger's window every now and then during the ride, enjoying the chilly breeze against her face. It felt like forever since the last time she'd left the prison. First it was the baby, then the Governor's threat, then the full-blown war, then all these newcomers from Woodbury that had to settle down. She had started to feel like a convict.

Daryl had sternly turned down her offers to join him and the others more times than she could count, barking at Maggie and Michonne when they took her side. Michonne had almost drawn her katana on him once and Maggie refused to speak to him for days. The three of them had instrumented an entire conspiracy to get Carol outside the fence, before she lost her mind. Poor Glenn was dragged in this against his better judgment, succumbing to Maggie's persistence, so the next time Rick pointed out they needed supplies Glenn replied he was too tired and he'd rather stay back to spend some lazy time with Maggie who kept nodding in agreement the whole time. Daryl had raised his eyebrow and drifted his eyes to Carol, who smiled at him innocently. When he asked Michonne, she folded her arms in her chest stating "I don't feel like it", driving him so mad, he actually lost his words. Rick seemed really confused, everyone was usually more than willing to go for a run and he had made it clear that he intended to stick to the prison for a while to resume his parenting duties. Carl's recently revealed bloodlust after shooting in cold blood that kid in the woods and the fact that he still refused to accept the new additions from Woodbury made Rick really worried about his son's upbringing.

"I can go," Carol offered flatly, not even glancing at Daryl's ominous glare she just knew was there.

"Ok, great!" Rick breathed out relieved and she stood up to get ready, trying to mask her excitement with a face of indifference.

She was certain Daryl had figured out their little plot immediately, but she didn't care as long as she got to get away from this damned place for a few hours. Especially with him. Once they hopped in the truck and drove outside the fence, she couldn't help but grin widely to herself. Hearing him snorting next to her brought her back to reality and she felt her cheeks blushing.

"You follow my lead and stay close," he growled pointing a finger at her. "You are not allowed to take initiatives."

She nodded. "Everything you say." She was too content from the outcome to argue with him.

Seeing her beaming with enthusiasm made it really hard for him to stay angry. He tried to preserve his frowned and cranky face, but her cheerful babbling distracted him after a while and the next time he reminded himself what a deceitful little creature she was, it was too late to go back. He was enjoying her company, talking and joking more than usual and cracking his crooked smile way more times than he meant to.

After a couple of hours, they reached a small village they had never scavenged before, parked their truck in the outskirts and started checking out houses. Daryl was taking out most of the walkers inside them, but she had her fair share of kills, as well. When she dug her knife in the scull of a six feet walker who surprised her from behind and saw a spark of pride glistening in his eyes, she smiled, rubbing off the blood that had spilled on her face with the back of her hand. He had trained her well. And yes, she was having a great time. With him.

Not finding a lot of useful things in the residences, they headed a bit deeper into the village, encountering no more than a few walkers wandering aimlessly in the streets, nothing they couldn't handle, but managed to pass them by mostly unnoticed, moving fast and quietly. Daryl had trouble staying alert, finding her presence in his tail distracting, although she was behaving, following his orders religiously. A few minutes later she nudged him, pointing towards what looked like a small store a few blocks down and he nodded.

The place was a goldmine. It was completely free of walkers and although already ransacked, plenty of stuff was still on the shelves. Sponges, shower gels, shampoos, sanitary products, painkillers, toilet paper had filled their back packs in minutes. They even picked a large box of condoms exchanging a shy look. "For Maggie and Glenn," Carol had shrugged it off, wishing silently she got to use some of them soon. With him.

After a while, confident that the place was secure, they drifted away from each other, Daryl trying to enter the locked storage room and Carol searching the drawers under the cash desk. He swore loudly, pondering on whether shooting the lock and attracting walkers straight to them was worth it and spun around to let her know. Everything happened simultaneously, then.

She spotted an armed man in the street the same moment the man saw her and they locked eyes, both drawing their guns on each other. "Daryl! Fall down!" she screamed and the next moment bullets and fragments from the shop window started flying all around them.

He fell on his knees and started crawling his way, desperate to reach her. She was returning the fire, bent behind a wall, but her position was very exposed and she seemed cornered. Daryl started shooting too against the man he identified as Martinez, but his field of vision was limited from where he was standing. Swearing again, he took a few steps closer to her. From the corner of his eye, he caught Shumpert emerging behind the corner of the street, his gun raised and firing, realizing he would have a clear shot to Carol in a matter of seconds.

"Move, Carol! Move!" he yelled, jumping right in the middle of the crossfire to cover her, watching her as she tried to run a few feet away, only to slip and land hard on her stomach. Shumpert was covering Martinez's retreat and they both disappeared behind the corner, fleeing the place.

Daryl stormed to her side and felt nauseated at the sight. She had rolled over, laying on her back now, taking out a sharp piece of glass that was stuck in her stomach, blood spreading across her shirt. He felt his gut twisting and panic rushed into his body, looking at the painful expression of her face. She was shaking uncontrollably from the shock of the unexpected battle and the excruciating pain.

"Don't move." he ordered. Shit. He had to evaluate the damage.

"I'm… I'm fine…" she stuttered, her voice trembling. "I just sl… slipped… The glass…"

"I know." he interrupted her, hating the underlying panic in his voice. "You did well."

His hands were working frantically now. He ripped her shirt open to expose a deep wound. He tried to apply some pressure, but blood was spurting between his fingers. Shit.

"Press it here," he said trying hard to sound composed and terribly failing, placing her hand to the spot his own rested a moment ago. "Press it!" he snapped when he felt her limb weak under his grip. Carol eyed him warily, searching for his eyes, trying her best to do exactly as she was told.

He instantly unrolled the scarf she was wearing around her neck and started tearing it off in shreds. "It's ok," she sounded calmer now. "It's not that deep, don't worry," she went on. God, she hated how scared he looked. His brow was furrowed, deep wrinkles engraved in it, eyes narrowed and lips pressed.

Was she going to comfort him now? As if there was a tiny chance this wasn't his fault? All he had to do was keep a fuckin' eye on her! "We have to move. We have to get you back to Hershel," he murmured, tying the strips of the garment together. "You're gonna be just fine," he emphasized, addressing more to himself than to her. He froze for a moment, petrified by the echo of his words in his ears. That was exactly what he'd told her when Sophia went missing and then…

He blinked and swallowed hard, trying to shove the thought away. Losing a Peletier wasn't happening to him again, no fuckin' way. He couldn't afford to fall apart now, he had to stop the bleeding, or at least limit it until he got her back to the prison safely. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breaths coming out ragged; she was losing a lot of blood.

"I know," Carol reassured him. She was aware of the blood loss she was suffering. It was evident from her head that was getting lighter and the dizziness claiming her clarity, but she tried to focus on her breathing to remain composed, never complaining for the sharp pain that penetrated her body. Daryl looked like he was on the verge of freaking out any moment now. What the hell had happened to him? He was always so calm under pressure, keeping his shit together he called it, always looked like he never lost control of a situation; he and Rick had led them through every hell they had stomped into confidently and kept them safe. And now he was losing it for a freaking glass. She was such a fool for causing this mess.

He rolled her on one side and again on her back and wrapped the makeshift gauze tightly around her, his expert fingers tying an adept, firm knot. That was pretty much all he could do right now. Satisfied by the result, he lifted his head to look at her for the first time. She was so pale, his chest tightened. The sudden moves made the ceiling spin around and she wanted to throw up, but remained silent nevertheless.

He stood up to check the area around them. No one was anywhere to be seen, no apparent threat. "We have to move," he repeated.

"Ok, I can walk," she tried to sound sure for herself, but her attempt to get up to her elbows failed miserably.

"The hell you can." he dismissed her quickly. Her eyes were blurry and uncoordinated, he felt sick. This wasn't supposed to happen.

He kneeled down again to lift her up, but her arm yanked to stop him.

"No, Daryl, no!" she pleaded wide-eyed. "If anyone is hiding out there, you can't fight carrying me. And the walkers… Better get the truck here."

He hesitated for a moment. Fuck. She was right, he knew she was right. With his hands occupied, if Martinez and Shumpert were still lurking for them, they would make the easiest target since the dawn of time. But if they were still out there, she'd probably be dead before he even reached the truck, let alone everything that could happen to him out there and then she'd be left there all alone, bleeding out, terrified. Let alone the walker threat. Shit. No matter what he did, he just couldn't keep this woman safe, could he? No. He couldn't just leave her there; if that meant he got shot down the moment he stepped outside holding her in his arms, so be it. At least they'd get to die together.

"No. We'll take our chances." he stated adamantly, scooping her up carefully and settling her head on his shoulder, noticing that, despite her discontent, she was too groggy to truly resist to him. Shit. He had to get her back.

Carol saw everything through a haze, not really able to keep track of their whereabouts while he was jogging, holding her tightly. Irony was, regardless her poor condition, she actually enjoyed the sense of his strong arms around her, the warmth of his body pressed against hers and the hot, labored breaths that burnt her face every time he dipped his head to check on her. She couldn't say for sure, but she thought he held her a little tighter than necessary and the mere thought caused a jolt of happiness in her chest. She mentally kicked herself. There she was, bleeding out on him the first time she managed to go on a run and yet savoring his embrace. She couldn't die like this, Daryl would never forgive himself if anything happened to her on his watch, she had to stay alive for him. Not that it would be a bad death, dying clinging to his body. God knew she could do much worse than that. Only she had zero interest in dying, anyway. Their time wasn't up yet, there were so many things she still wanted to live with this man. So many things she wanted to do with him. With him.

Twice he had to gently put her down to fight off some stray walkers who blocked their way, smashing their heads with a ferocity that shocked him, and each time he returned to pick her up, he felt his heart breaking at the sight of her slouched body. When they finally made it to the truck, Daryl violently swung the driver's door open, panting, exhausted from running all the way back carrying her weight, but grateful they had made it there. Soon he'd get her to Hershel. She was gonna be just fine. She had to. Carol couldn't die like this. Not with him right there.

He drove as fast as the truck could go, maybe too fast, but they had to be back as soon as possible. It had taken them almost two hours to get there, but he had taken his time back then, to save the gas he had told himself, but he knew that he just wanted their ride to last longer. He was sure he could make it back in less than an hour.

"Way to impress a girl with your driving skills," she commented playfully.

"You'd better focus on staying awake," his voice came out harder that he meant. He was just so freaking scared he wanted to throw her a shit storm of temper.

"Ok, I'll stop." she agreed. She was feeling too fuzzy anyway.

Daryl's stomach jumped at his throat. She couldn't stop, she wouldn't stop; she just never stopped, no matter what he did or said, ever. The fact that she quit so easily meant her strength was wearing off. "No, you keep your mouth talking and stay awake."

"Fine…" she complied. "I did well, didn't I?" She needed him to be proud of her.

"Yeah, as well as I'd do." Relief overwhelmed him. She was still there with him. He had to keep her awake, even if that meant he had to keep talking for an hour. "God help us all if you ever get mad holding a gun."

"Does this mean I get to join you for a run again?" she tried, although she knew the answer.

"Hell no!" he groaned. "You're never stepping a foot outside the prison again."

"Wanna bet?" she giggled.

"What, you think I didn't figure out your little show this morning? Fuckin' female conspiracy?" he asked sarcastically.

"Just hoped you wouldn't bring it up, I guess," she sighed her disappointment.

No. She had to keep talking. He had to keep her talking. "You are in so big trouble, all of you. You have no idea," he chuckled, trying to sound amused.

"It's was my idea. No one else to blame," she confessed.

"Of course it was. I only feel sorry for Glenn. I'm sure he put up a fight, but never stood a chance against Maggie." She laughed weakly against his chest. "And that's why I'll tie you up on your bed". There, no way she'd let that one fall.

"Really? And do what?" she challenged him. If he was mad later, she could always invoke temporary insanity due to extensive blood loss. Granted she survived this, of course.

He blushed despite himself. She would embarrass him relentlessly, after all. But he didn't care; not with the fear of losing her hanging over his head. "Fuck you, Carol. I'll chain you up against a wall if I have to, but you're not going anywhere, ever again."

"A girl can dream," she kept pushing herself to tease him. She could hear his heart racing under his chest; she didn't want him to worry too much for her.

"Fuck you." he faked a growl again.

"Only with you," she followed his lead. She knew what he was doing, but pretended she didn't. Her eyelids were too heavy now, she felt them closing off and struggled to flutter them open. She had to stay awake. At least she was glad he was resting his chin on her head and couldn't see her face.

"Shit. You're bleeding out and still can't talk about anything else."

"Don't get your hopes too high. Getting rid of me will be a lot harder than that," she played along. What she meant was that she'd do anything in her power not to leave him. But she was in pain. And she felt so tired.

"Good. Keep talking." he grunted.

* * *

_Now_

They were almost there. She had put quite a fight there to remain awake, Daryl was proud of her, but it was clear her energy was ebbing off and for the last few minutes, she was slipping in and out of consciousness. As his own adrenaline was fading away, he felt despair pumping through his veins. They were both soaked in blood and she kept fuckin' bleeding. No. He couldn't let this happen. No.

"We're almost there," he repeated loudly for the hundredth time and watched her eyes shoot open. He had readjusted her in his arms to be able to see her face a while ago and he'd swear she hadn't even noticed.

"I'm coming again. Promise me." And that was the hundredth time she asked the same thing.

"You keep telling yourself that," he huffed absentmindedly, but tugged her closer. Where the fuck was the fuckin' prison?

"Please? If I don't die?"

"You're gonna be just fine," he hissed, doubt lingering in his tone.

He grabbed her wrist, placing two fingers on the skin above the artery to check her pulse. His heart sank; it was weak and erratic. No. No.

"Dying already?" she poked him.

He wanted to promise her that if she didn't die, he would give her anything she wanted. Supply runs couldn't even begin to cover it. She could join him in every fuckin' watch, tease him all she wanted, go hunting with him, laugh loudly and scare his prey away every single time. Hell, he would quit doing anything altogether and just take care of her, never letting her out of his sight again, carry her in his arms anywhere if she didn't feel like walking. He shook his head, startled at his own thoughts. All that didn't sound like either of them. He must have been really desperate, being willing to make all this crazy promises when all she wanted was to join them to the supply runs. But he couldn't give her that, not just yet. His reluctance to step down was what kept this argument alive and that argument kept her talking.

"You wouldn't dare. You go ahead and die on me; I'll kick your ass big time."

"That'd be a little too late for that…" she whispered meekly.

"Naw… No way you're biting the dust before grasping the chance to screw around with me." He was torturing her now and he knew it, but she had to stay awake. And that was the best card he had to play. They were close. So fuckin' close.

She could hardly make out his words out, all she felt were numbness and a wildfire burning in her stomach, ready to consume her the moment she gave up. But what he said managed to catch her attention. "Keeping me motivated, Daryl?" she sighed. She really wanted to screw around with him; seriously. She would. If she didn't die, she would. She'd better not die then.

"Yeap. I am." So close.

"I'll remember that," she tried to laugh, but the words came out mumbled.

She was so white, it scared the shit out of him. Her face seemed drained from blood and a deathly pallor distorted her features. And it seemed forever since the last time she had opened her eyes. "Hey… How are you feeling?" he shook her lightly. They were almost there. Almost.

"Wanna talk about… about… feelings now?" That would probably be her last attempt to joke. She could barely move her lips anymore. She definitely couldn't fight anymore. Shit. What would he do if she passed out on him? She wished she didn't have to put him through this. But it was beyond her reach.

"Shit. Can't you just answer a damned question?"

"Tired." she whispered almost too low for him to listen. She had to try harder. Harder.

"We're almost there, ok?" He was brushing his cheek against her forehead now. No. No. She couldn't just slip away from him that easily; not when he was holding her so tight… And they were so fuckin' close.

"Hmm…" she had been hopelessly holding onto his voice for so long, she just couldn't anymore. All she wanted was to sob in defeat for not getting as much as a last glimpse of him; her eyelids were not obeying her.

He shook her again, this time violently. "Are you fuckin' listening to me?" he yelled angrily. If he was trying so hard, she had to fuckin' do the same.

"Yeah… We're… almost… there…" The sound of his voice was so distant…

"Good girl. Keep talking." he demanded.

"Can't… Sor…" her voice faded. Darkness.

Her head fall back. "Carol?" he suddenly felt a huge lump in his throat choking him, almost losing control of the vehicle. This wasn't happening. They were so close. So close.

"Carol! Fuck!" he was suffocating, unable to get air in his lungs.

His heart was skipping beats as he leaned over her to put his ear over her nostrils; still breathing. "You're not dying. You're not going anywhere," he whispered, squeezing her limp, slumped all over him body against his, oblivious to the hot tears streaming down his face.

The shape of the prison gate loomed in the distance.

_To be continued…_

_I apologize for the cliffhanger, I promise I'll try to make it up to you._

_Any thoughts on how you want this to play out?_

_Thank you for reading :) Your reviews would be much appreciated._

_Second and last part of this drabble coming soon!_

"It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone."  
― _John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent _

9


	4. Blood (Part II)

**Summary: **Difficult as it might have been to drive the vehicle steadily with only one hand on the wheel, Daryl did his best to keep his eyes focused on the road ahead them, snuggling her against his tensed body with his other hand. Time was menacingly ticking inside his head

_Hey, everyone!_

_So, I practically glued myself on the computer to get this written as soon as possible… I haven't even made a check for errors, so be prepared for anything! I'll correct everything I can find tomorrow, I just couldn't leave you waiting with this cliffhanger!  
_

_I really hope you like the second part as much as I do :) _

_To those of you I didn't get time to PM:_

_I feel terrible I left a cliffhanger like that the last time; I had no intention to do so when I started it. Problem is I got carried away writing and then the drabble was huge and I didn't want to leave any part out… You get the picture!_

_Thank you all for your support and the great reviews!_

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

From the top of the watch tower, Glenn knew something was wrong the moment the truck came into view, accelerating like devil himself was in its tail and following a frantic zig zag trajectory, which left Glenn with his mouth fallen agape.

"Maggie! Maggie! Get Rick! Get your weapons!" he waved towards the prison, afraid that what Carol and Daryl were fleeing from was the Governor.

Daryl's first impulse was to drive through the gate in high speeds to get her inside as soon as possible. What hindered the literal implementation of this thought was a last chunk of rationality screaming inside his head that he couldn't let more than twenty people unprotected, without a fence surrounding them. As Sasha rushed to unlock the gate, he readjusted Carol in his arms and risked another glance at her. His heart stopped at her stillness and the coldness of her skin. He slammed on the gas again the moment the chain was gone. The tires made a squeaky, high pitch sound, churning up a cloud of dust before the vehicle stormed forward, violently swinging the gate open, the momentum of it knocking Sasha down. Fuckin' people better stay out of his way or next time he'd run them over.

He reached the prison the moment most of the members of the old group were on their way out, weapons in hands, ready to defend the place from whatever threat was stalking. They stopped in their tracks at the sight of what emerged behind the windshield of the car. Carol, close-eyed and probably unconscious was slouched over Daryl who held her against his strong torso. Daryl hopped out of the driver's seat before the vehicle came at a standstill, revealing two blood-stained figures, cradling her protectively in his arms.

"Oh, God…" that was all that escaped Rick's lips.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Maggie broke the silence, disappearing back in the prison.

He tried to run towards them, but his knees trembled precariously and he staggered for a few steps, seemingly ready to collapse under her weight. Gritting his teeth and groaning a guttural, hoarse sound, he steadied himself and headed forward, shooting murderous glares to Rick and Tyreese when they instinctively moved closer with opened arms to relieve him from the burden of the limp body in his arms. He moved quickly after that, stopped only when he tenderly placed her in the bunk of her cell and looked her paleness in despair. Was she still breathing? He couldn't say. He didn't even dare to check out. He was short of breath himself, lack of oxygen clouding his senses. In a matter of seconds, Hershel's crutches echoed on the prison floor, people gathered outside the cell opened a way for him to pass.

"What happened?" the vet asked Daryl, his eyes scanning Carol's still figure. Maggie and Beth stepped in behind him, carrying Hershel's medical kit, towels and a pair of scissors, spreading their equipment around effectively so that everything could be in reach. Daryl got out of their way, stepping back and leaning hard against the cold wall. He just didn't have enough air inside him. Hershel watched him warily.

"Fell on a glass… About an hour and a half ago… I tried to control the bleeding…" he was panting, short, ragged breaths escaping his lips. "Lost so much blood… So much…" he kept gasping, sure he would never be able to get enough oxygen in his lungs again. Maggie was leaning over her now, checking her pulse, while Beth was cutting the blood-soaked strips of what used to be her favorite scarf he had tightly tied around the wound.

"It's ok, son, take your time," Hershel said calmly, returning his attention to the lying figure in the cot.

"Her pulse is weak," Maggie stated.

"I don't think she's bleeding much anymore," Beth tried to discern the slit of the wound through old and fresh blood.

Daryl tried to inhale deeply to clear his mind; it didn't work. The walls of the confined space narrowed, coming closer to crash him and the floor started to spin. Her lifeless frame looked deformed and Hershel's hushed advices came distorted in his ears. He moaned and closed his eyes. "She was conscious most of the time. Passed out less than ten minutes ag…" his voice was consumed by a sob he didn't let out.

"Need any help?" Rick's concerned figure surfaced in the cell's entrance, his gaze drifting between Carol's body and Daryl's pitiful form.

"No, we got her," Hershel replied calmly.

"Rick…" Daryl's raspy voice rang unfamiliar in his own ears. He had to tell them everything, but not in here… he was suffocating in here. He dragged his legs towards his friend, whispering a barely audible "Fix her" to Hershel without casting a glance at Carol.

Rick instantly reached out and grabbed Daryl's shoulder to support his fragile balance, leading him out in the sunlight. So much had happened that day and it was barely past noon yet. Daryl felt grateful for the firm grip that guided him. Once outside, he collapsed on the bench, rubbing his eyes with his clean hand, drew a sharp breath and instantly felt less hysterical. Somebody he didn't even notice handed him a bottle of water he emptied in seconds. Michonne and Tyreese had joined Rick, the three of them waiting for him to talk.

"We were attacked. Martinez and Shumpert. No sight of the Governor. At least we didn't catch a glimpse of him." he blurted hastily.

Michonne's brows came closer. "They were alone?"

"Don't know for sure, but that's my guess. I was in the back of the store, Carol was alone in the front," he paused, holding his breath. Carol was alone in the front. Carol was alone in the front. He had left her alone in the front. If he hadn't left her alone; if he had been closer… His head whirled to the prison; Was she still alive? She might have been dead already and he wouldn't have a clue.

"She in good hands now." Rick interrupted his thoughts, encouraging him to continue.

Daryl nodded. "I heard her yell and then she and Martinez started shooting at each other. By the time I got close enough to fire, Shumpert was covering their retreat."

"Did you follow them?"

"NO!" he snarled and then he remembered they didn't know. "That was when she got hurt," his eyes drifted to his bloody clothes and his left arm that was covered entirely with her blood. "My guess is they were alone," he went on; "If they had more men with them they would stick around enough to take us out. It'd be a piece of cake."

"Did they recognize you?" Tyreese spoke up for the first time.

"Definitely. They both saw me."

Michonne took a step closer, "Are you sure you're not hurt too?"

"Yeah…" he swallowed hard. He was fuckin' intact.

"Is there anything you need?" Tyreese asked with concern.

He shook his head. He needed Carol to live and smile to him again and ruthlessly tease him until he spontaneously combust from embarrassment, but they couldn't give him that, could they? As he made it perfectly clear that he was done talking, Michonne and Tyreese slowly walked away.

"And no hard feelings for trying to run over my sister!" Tyreese yelled with a smile.

Rick took a seat next to him, compassion and sincere concern radiating from his mere presence, and they both remained silent for a moment. Daryl was the first to break it.

"Where's Carl?"

"In the back. Practicing with knives. Mad at me, as always lately." Rick sighed, not knowing what to do with his son.

Daryl scoffed, "That's a tough boy there, Rick, but I'm telling you, he could use a little spanking every now the then." Yep, tough was one thing, but Carl was getting out of control.

"I'm starting to believe so myself," Rick chuckled a humorless laugh. He eyed the hunched shoulders of the man next to him, who kept his gaze fixed on his hands the whole time. "She's gonna be fine," he offered, trying to sound confident.

"I know," Daryl murmured quickly.

After an hour of comfortable silence flooding the space between them, Rick jumped on his feet at the sight of Hershel making his way to them. Daryl's eyes darted to the vet's unfathomable expression; he couldn't bring himself to get up. She was dead, wasn't she? He was too late.

"I don't know," Hershel shrugged. "There isn't any internal damage, we cleaned the wound, stitched it and bumped her up with antibiotics. I also used one of the IV bags we found in the infirmary," he clarified. "But she's lost a lot of blood… All I can say now is, wait for her to wake up."

Daryl hated the sound of this last sentence, the biting insinuation that she might not wake up at all.

"When do you expect her to?" Rick echoed his own thoughts.

Hershel shook his head, "I can't say. Maybe in a couple of hours, in a couple of days, or…" his voice wavered. Or not at all.

Daryl's stomach kicked; he felt sick. Rick squeezed his shoulder. Or not at all.

* * *

The rest of the day was agonizingly slow. He had collapsed under a shower briefly after Hershel's update and stayed there for so long he started shivering and had trouble bringing himself up. Everyone respected his space and allowed him some loneliness, knowing what an introverted and closed up person he was. Or again, maybe they were just afraid of his clenched fists and gritted teeth. The one person that could safely approach him when he looked like that was lying unconscious in a buck. Little comfort did he find cooing to Lil' Ass Kicker, who usually was a solace of serenity to him.

He had stubbornly stayed as far away from her cell as possible, never approaching close enough to squint at her. The image of her pale face and bloody clothes haunted him. He was trying to be mad at her for not trying hard enough. He had decided that he'd be in a survival mode, not waiting long enough to see whether she decided to make them the honor to wake up or not, he'd just adapt living in a world without her, starting from now, and the easiest way to do so was to ignore the still figure furiously resembling Carol's graceful frame. After he barely touched the tasteless dinner Beth served him, he purposely headed to his cell, determined to sleep and not waste a moment thinking of her. Fuck Carol. He had done more talking than he normally did in a month inside the truck, let her tease him all she wanted, even joked about screwing around with her and she had just given up. Fuck Carol. She should have fought harder. He hadn't stopped fighting for her, not for a second. His biggest unacknowledged fear, nesting deep in his gut, was that she had just grabbed the chance to reunite with Sophia, not spending as much as a thought to him. But not having a choice other than to pass by her own cell in his way to his, he couldn't help casting a peek inside. Just a peek and he already knew sleep wouldn't be visiting him tonight.

Around midnight, he finally came to terms with the fact that his eyelids would stay open forever only to torture him and keep sleep away. He sighed in resignation and stopped pretending this attitude was something he could keep dragging around. All he wanted was to see her.

Beth was changing the IV when he emerged in the entrance of her cell.

"We're doing everything we can," she smiled wearily at him.

He nodded. "Go get some sleep, I'll stay."

"Wake me up if anything happens. Maggie will come at six." Beth found his look too intimidating to resist.

In a second they were alone inside the cell.

He collapsed in the chair next to her bunk, his eyes burning holes in her face. There she was, all cleaned up and pale in a sleevelss red top, lost in a serene bliss, her arms laying still outside the covers. The IV bag hanging next to her cot, drops falling in a frequent rate, the needle inserted in the inner side of the elbow. He couldn't even blink from fear she'd be ripped away from him in that split second.

"You can't take your time there. You have to wake up. Beth's cooking will have us all starved to death," he murmured. There. Did he just say the only reason she couldn't die was that they didn't have a surrogate cook? Shit. Mood killer should have been his middle name.

"Just wake up and everything's gonna be fine. I'm not angry at you," he mumbled.

This wasn't happening again. How many times would this woman have him counting her shallow fuckin' breaths? Afraid they would have to end it before she turned into one of those creatures? He had always been determined he'd be the one to put her down, to dig a bullet in her head. Part of him honestly believed that this was the stupidest idea he had ever come across in the really rich collection of piled up fool ideas that constituted his life. He would never get over something like that and he knew it. But the other part of him was stubbornly refusing to let anyone else achieve this kind of intimacy with her and with that, he simply meant that he'd get to be the last one to see her face, no matter what. They were heads and tail she and he, two different sides of the same coin, irrevocably engraved on the metal through abuse, loss and sorrow, desperately trying to curve their seperate ways through it and meet in the middle. And that meant he alone got to put her down. No. She would be fine. He couldn't lose her now, they were almost there; in the middle. Whatever the fuck that meant.

* * *

_Sophia was looking at her, smiling happily in her blue shirt with the rainbow print that matched her sweet eyes. Carol felt her heart racing. She had missed her sweet angel so much, had cried herself to sleep for so many nights, had learned how to fight and survive only to honor her memory and the fact that she'd want her to stay alive and keep putting one foot in front of the other. And now she was standing right there, looking exactly like the real, beautiful Sophia and not the heinous monstrosity that stumbled outside the barn. She rushed forward to hug her, but froze in her place when Sophia shook her head. She lifted her thin arm slowly and pointed in the opposite direction, where Daryl stood, tilting her head to the side and giving her mother a huge grin. Carol started sobbing violently. She didn't want to leave her, not again. They could be together again for eternity and she'd made such a better mother than she used to. She knew how to protect her now; Daryl had showed her how. Daryl… Why couldn't she have them both? How the hell was that asking too much? She tried to take a step towards her daughter once more, but Sophia shook her head again, chuckling cheerfully and wavering in Daryl's direction. She was retreating back now, widening the distance between them, under Carol's teary gaze and soft whimpers until she disappeared. Carol wiped her eyes and turned to face Daryl who stared at her with burning eyes, one arm stretched out invitingly. She smiled softly and took a step towards him._

* * *

They were standing across each other. Blood was everywhere; an ocean of blood pouring out from Carol's standing figure, her stomach wound bleeding like a fountain. He wasn't exactly asleep, all this being more of an hallucination than an actual nightmare, his level of awareness too alert and conscious; the noise of kettles clinking in the makeshift kitchen, someone was still up; the sound of the trees rustling outside; yes, he wasn't sleeping, but he was too fuckin' tired to open his eyes and was torturing himself mercilessly, trapped in this bleak illusion.

"Whatever it is, it can't be worse than the dead walking on earth." A whisper penetrated his grievious haze and delicate fingers squeezed his limp hand caressing it reassuringly.

Damn Beth was touching him again, still didn't know any better than to sneak up on him. "You'd be surprised," he snorted, eyes hermetically closed.

And then it hit him. The sweet voice and the soft touch… His head snapped and he came face to face with a weak, yet beaming grin. A set of beautiful, droopy, azure eyes, enveloped by dark circles was lingering on his, giving him a longing look he couldn't decipher.

Carol.

Carol.

_Carol._

He abruptly grasped the fingers stroking the back of his palm into a firm grip, gasping. Was she real? Was this real?

"Super-Daryl worked his miracle again. You got us back safely," she regarded him proudly.

"You ok?" he didn't even identify the husky sound as his own voice.

"Peachy," she replied sarcastically. "Except from the pain in my stomach. And the blood loss. And the dizziness. And the stiffed body. And that I can't even reach the water bottle. And the exhaustion. But I'm not complaining. I'm still alive, right?" she smiled whole-heartedly.

He said nothing, shaky, heavy breaths escaping him, wide eyes fixed on her; he just nodded swallowing hard a huge lump. She was still alive, wasn't she? He disentangled her fingers from his clasp, gently laying her hand by her side and reached for the bottle long enough to miss the disappointment that darkened her gaze. Propping her head up and supporting her with one hand, he lowered the uncapped bottle between her lips and watched her sipping the liquid greedily, fingers curled pathetically weak around his wrist, eyes never leaving his.

"Thank you," she moaned out of breath when she was done and he eased her head back to the pillow.

A few more silent moments passed between them. "Help me up a bit?" she asked, not knowing how to deal with the thin line of his lips.

He nodded again and silently added another pillow under her back, bringing her up into a more sitting position, avoiding her gaze. What was wrong with him? He felt he couldn't articulate a single word without start weeping his eyes out right in front of her. Relief was rushing into his veins, washing away the twisted agony that battered him inside out since the moment he saw her laying on the floor. His hand felt empty and cold without hers inside, so he fisted them both and pressed them against his mouth, elbows of his knees, to shove away the sense of loss and hide his nervously twitching lips.

Carol watched him warily. It was one of the rare times words were evading her. She felt so spent due to blood loss and fighting the battle of her life to trick death once more the day before, she could barely find the proper way to express herself. "I never thought I'd die, not for a second," she whispered hoarsely, unshed tears glistening behind the fan of her eyelashes. "I had faith in you even when I didn't have in myself." Never had she spoken truer words.

Gathering all her strength, she reached out a delicate, pierced arm to touch him once more, the IV tube bouncing back and forth. "Please, say something," she pleaded.

He just stared at it for a moment, holding his crouched position, keeping his distance. A sense of rejection overwhelmed her under his hard gaze and stray tears streamed down her face, but his hand yanked immediately and callous fingers wrapped around her fragile wrist, tracing her pulse again. He buried his face in his free hand, sealed his eyes closed, barely able to control the underlying sobs in his chest as the strong and steady beating of her heart under his fingertips progressively sank into him. Strong and steady.

"I'm alive." Her whisper struggled to pass through the buzz of his ears.

She was alive. Her heart was beating and she was talking to him and looking at him and everything. She was alive. Pulse strong and steady.

She tried to pull him to her bunk; surprisingly, he complied. For a brief moment they both stared at her tiny hand resting on his knee, his fingertips never parting from the inside of her wrist. "I'm alive," she reiterated soothingly.

"I can never be sure with y…" his voice choked into a sob he swallowed loudly, eyes drifting between the needle and the ulnar artery. "Always have to jump between you and your fuckin' death wish," he continued more steadily, trying to joke. Strong and steady.

Carol smiled. He had beaten her to that. Despite her exhaustion she felt so attracted to him… She loved and wanted that scared man in front of her beyond any logic, his intense gaze mesmerized her, the fact that he needed to feel her heart beat moved her deeply. If only she could lift herself up…

She cupped the back of his neck with her free hand and dragged him closer to her until their faces were only inches away; once more, he didn't resist. "I couldn't leave you", she whispered, dazzled by his hot breath near her mouth. "I just couldn't leave you," her voice came out pleading as she made the ultimate effort to lift her head a few inches to desperately bring their lips together. Her kiss was struggled and brief, simply brushing her lips against his statue frame, interrupted by a sharp pain in her stomach that knocked her back, wincing.

Daryl was startled, inhaled sharply and held the air, the fingers around her wrist tightened instinctively at her painful grimace. Strong and steady. "I'm fine," she reassured him. "Just…"

She was taken aback by his mouth crashing on hers with a passion that shocked them both, hungry and awkward closed lips claiming domination. The room started spinning as her head was pressed against the pillows and she grabbed his muscled arm to shove the vertigo away, desperately tugging closer to him. He put some distance again between them, finally let go of her wrist, convinced that she was very much real and alive and melting beneath him and slid his arm under her nape to prop her head up, cupping her cheek with his other hand and staring at her. Daryl blushed feverishly, his face growing tomato red with every passing second. "Don't stop," she whispered, breathing heavily, mouth hanging open.

He closed the gap between them slower this time, parting his lips in the process, not sure what to do next, but trusting her to guide him… trusting them. Their third kiss was deeper as their tongues swirled together, clumsily exploring each other's mouths, savoring the taste and the sensation of their collided bodies, until he got too carried away and, tracing a hand across her torso, he brushed her bandaged fresh wound, causing her to groan with pain.

He instantly jerked back, scolding himself, searching her face and waiting for her to dismiss him. "Shit," he gasped for air. "Are you ok?"

Carol shook her head, her eyes welling up with tears, her lips already missing his. Surely he'd bolt now, regretting everything that had happened the last couple of minutes, just because of a little pain that didn't even begin to resemble the suffocating pain that overwhelmed her when he stopped kissing her.

"No?" his chest tightened.

"No." she mumbled pathetically, fighting back her tears.

"I'm getting Hershel," he grunted, hating himself for hurting her.

"No, no, no…" her hand yanked to stop him. Damn, he couldn't get it, could he? "It's not that… It's just…" she floundered. "The moment you take your lips away, the pain becomes excruciating," she finally whispered shyly, eyes downcast. It sounded like one of her jokes, but she was dead serious. Once she had tasted his mouth, she didn't think she could live without it anymore.

Daryl watched her for a long moment, dumbfounded. Confident he had almost killed her with his carelessness, it took him a while to process her words. Cupping her cheek again, he tilted her head to face him and his lips cracked into his infamous crooked smile. "I'm sorry," he said. "Don't know how to do this." He could feel his blush spreading in his ears.

"You are perfect," she confessed honestly, shrugging. He was. He had no idea how perfect he was.

A deep yawn escaped her and she smirked sheepishly. He leaned over her again, this time kissing her tenderly on the forehead.

"Enough of this shit." he said matter-of-factly, removing the needle from her arm and tossing the IV bag on the floor. "Let's move you over a bit." Daryl pushed her gently towards the wall and slipped under the covers next to her. Something was seriously wrong with this woman; it made no sense to him that she was looking at him with mere adoration sparkling in her blue eyes.

Carol snuggled into his chest immediately, feeling waves of thrill as a strong arm wrapped around her shoulders. If she was in terrible pain, or was being ridiculously careless with her wound, she didn't give a damn; she wasn't wasting this opportunity. Now that she was happy, her eyelids grew heavy again. Realizing it wouldn't be long till she dozed off, she focused on his heart beating under her ear. Strong and steady.

"Please be here in the morning," she whispered with another yawn.

"Where else would I be?" he asked sincerely. It was the truth and he was happy she couldn't see his face, because he wouldn't have been able to blurt it out. It was too late for him, she kept his heart in her palm and there was no going back now.

"Daryl? Can I ask you something?" a playful tone crept in her sleepy voice.

"Yeah..." he hesitated, detecting it.

"Am I going for a run ever again?" she sighed.

"Haven't you pushed your luck enough for one night?" he returned the question, chuckling.

Carol giggled in his chest.

"I really liked it. Well, except from the almost dying thing."

He didn't even want to think about it.

"Get some rest," he tried to sound angry, failing miserably. "We'll talk about it in a month. I'm not going anywhere."

One single happy tear escaped her eyes and the next moment she was sound asleep. He wasn't going anywhere.

This is how Maggie found them three hours later; clinging to each other in their peaceful sleep.

_The End_

_Ugh… My poor heart!_

_I don't know how you feel about the scenes between Daryl and the other members of the group. They are the reason this chapter got so long, but I wanted to have him interacting with people while the threat of losing Carol was hanging over his head._

_I really hope I made Daryl and Carol justice, especially in the kissing part! How did you like it?_

_Any idea for future drabbles?_

_Thank you for reading :) Your reviews would be extremely appreciated!_

_**Peta2**: Thank you for the idea for a Ben Hur long chapter… I laughed so hard I cried :)_

_**Hylian Medli, collective2220**: Couldn't bring myself to completely integrate the scene you had in mind, although I had it in my mind as well. I made him tempted, though ;)_

_**LaurenEmilyxx**: Exactly, she kept fighting all along ;)_

_**spygrrl99**: Did you like him as a nurse?_

_**cavestirrings**: I'm honored your first review ever was for my story :) Hope it's not the last!  
_

_**libfulknot, HGRHfan35**: Hope you're crying with relief now :) _

"Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!"  
― _Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights _

11


	5. The Way I See You

**Summary**: She had almost died. He had almost lost her. But he saved her and nursed her and held her in her sleep. What else would take for them to face their feelings? The way they see each other. And the next morning declaration.

_This is definitely a stand alone, always intended to be. BUT, I integrated lots of details from Blood, so you can read it as a sequel or an epilogue to that as well. Suit yourselves! :)_

_I did these changes with __**Haitus80 **__in mind. She said she didn't like the fact that Blood was over and I wanted to give her just a little bit more :)_

_**Pat83: **__I'm just grateful, can't even begin to tell you. Seriously.  
_

_**SOA loving mom:** Thank you for having they same problems I do. Great not to be alone!_

_Thank you for all the kind words :) I'll try to PM everyone back._

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

_Carol_

To say she loved him, would be an understatement. What she felt for him resembled more to religious worship, to the blind devotion only true believers have. When she lost faith in God, she found faith in him. When everything fell apart the moment Sophia stumbled out of the barn, he held her together. When she thought she'd die, he saved her. When she felt like a worthless burden, he taught her how to survive. When she was ready to hit bottom rock, he hindered her fall. When her strength ebbed off, he fought for her. When death seemed the only possible outcome, he dragged her back to life.

It was a common secret between the members of the group that she loved him; her reaction after he'd left them to follow Merle left no space for pretending the opposite any more. And everyone seemed to share the opinion that he felt the same way, although he couldn't recognize the feeling. They always treated them like a unit, what went for the one of them, went for the other too. But she was never so sure about that, always feared that he cared for her just like a dear friend and nothing more and the terror of damaging this hard-built relationship between them beyond repair had effectively stopped her from taking the initiative to make a step towards a more intimate direction.

That was the case, until the day before. When she got stuck with a glass in her stomach during the supply run, he had lost his shit completely, carried her in his arms, snuggled her against his strong torso, talked to her for what seemed like hours, let her blood soak his clothes while driving them back to Hershel. And when she had woken up, he was right next to her and he was too overwhelmed with emotion to speak and kept making sure her heart was beating and staring at her with an unfathomable expression in his eyes and when she had kissed him, he kissed her back and then laid next to her and held her close and promised her he'd be there in the morning. During her deep peaceful sleep, she had traced more than once the hem of this shirt under her fingers to make sure this was not a dream or a bad joke her mind was playing with her and each time she had felt his grip around her shoulders tightening in response.

And there they were now, the next morning, his muscled body still under hers, while the first rays of awareness started shoving the sleep away. Her mind raced before her body followed, the amount of blood loss she suffered the day before had taken its toll on her, she felt exhausted despite sleeping for so long and she could say by the stiffness and the dizziness that still overpowered her that it would take several days for her to get back to her feet, fully functional. She remembered fighting tooth and nail to cling to his presence and stay alive, but judging from how terrified he looked, it must had been a pretty close call.

Her heart clenched with fear. What if last night meant nothing to him in the daylight? What if he was just worried and got carried away by the blunt demonstration of her feelings? What if he had regretted everything today and he wanted to bolt and the only thing stopping him was her body perched to him? No, she refused to think like that. That was the once weak, meek, needy woman, estranged to any kind of self-esteem she used to be worming doubt into her heart and not the confident, strong version of herself he had helped her unveil. No. Last night he showed her he was reciprocal. Their time to thrive in this bleak world had come. Once she opened her eyes and met his, they would convey the silent messages back and forth, with their own unique way, and seal the unbreakable bond between them for life.

There would never be another man in her life, that much she knew, whether he could love her back or not. There would be no other man even if she got to live a thousand lifetimes. She was blessed with the rare chance of finding her spot in the universe the moment the world went to hell and there was no undoing this. She would follow him wherever, whenever, for whatever reason; hell, she wouldn't even ask, all he had to do was nod. For the first time in her life she felt a wriggling optimism for the future underlying her chest, she was confident their moment to shine and hold hands had come. A joyful smile escaped her lips in this semi awoken state, moments later she would start stirring in his arms.

* * *

_Daryl_

He woke up first the next morning with a numb sensation spread all over his left side. His mind caught up immediately before his eyes fluttered open. The sensation of her body slumped over his was very familiar and completely new at the same time. Less than twenty four hours ago she was laying half-dead and limp in his arms, condemning him into a life she wasn't part of, leading him on the verge of insanity. And now, her steady breaths were moving up and down the arm he had protectively wrapped around her rhythmically.

He knew now, the moment he was holding her alive and breathing in his arms, the moment she was as safe as someone could be when the dead were walking on earth, the moment nothing could reach her as long as he was laying next to her alive, the moment he admitted he would protect this fragile yet strong as a rock woman with his last breath; he knew that eternity wasn't long enough, that he would never welcome a sunrise again, without feeling his heart racing and his breath caught in his throat, until he had double checked she was breathing and her heart was beating in her chest. He had been sentenced to cling to her well-being for life, holding back his own breath to make sure he could hear hers, ignoring the distracting pounding of his heart to trace the palpating pulse under her veins. The devastating agony of her between life and death oscillation the day before had claimed its toll on him as well, irrevocably traumatizing him to fear for her life. And yet, he welcomed this agonizing reality like bliss.

He had come so close to losing her before, he had even come close to mourn her… When he was watching Hershel's barn, the very same barn Sophia had walked out from as one of _them_, surrendering to the ruthless flames and heard her screaming for help, when he was left with nothing but a pink scarf and T-Dog's half-devoured body to grieve her loss while she was lost in the tombs, he had come so close to losing her… This was the world they were living in and Daryl knew it better than anyone. Survival meant adapt or die and he was the most faithful incarnation of a true survivor one could encounter. The fear of your beloved ones being violently ripped away from you in the most dreadful way was a hell they had come in terms with a long time ago. Amy, Jim, Sophia, Dale, Jimmy, Patricia, Lori, T-Dog, Merle, Andrea; the list was long. Each day could be the last one; no warnings, no second chances. All it took was a split second and the die was cast. No way back, nothing to make things right, to change the past, to rewrite history, to undo the definitive strike of death.

But nothing could even remotely resemble to the suffocating desperation of her life slipping away from inside his steel grip, the helplessness of Carol being torn from his arms no matter how tight he snuggled her to him, the menace that all he'd be left with was her dead body, an empty vessel of the last flickering ray of light and hope and happiness in his grim existence, never articulating a kind word again, never flourishing with a sweet smile, never sharing a kiss. While she was bleeding out in his arms and the hours that followed in sickening waiting for her to wake up, he had an epiphany. He had almost lost her despite his fierce grasp on her. It was that threat that knocked down the last remaining walls that resisted her loving presence; there was no self-defense, no protective barbed-wire fence, no emotional distance left inside him; nothing to keep him immune, insulated from her influence, isolated in his personal ivory tower.

She had kissed him last night and told him that she fought so hard to stay alive because she couldn't leave him and that he was perfect. He had reciprocated her feelings with everything he had, kissed her back awkwardly and clumsily and made a full-blown fiasco of the romantic moment hurting her but, nevertheless, he had done his very best to show her exactly how he felt about her. He got over himself when he climbed in her cot and shuffled closer to her wounded body and he left slip as clearly as possible that there was nowhere he'd rather be but on her side. He was inexperienced, almost a virgin when it came down to relationships and he would never be articulate enough to express his feelings, or dexterous enough to rule out any possibility of snapping her delicate frame into his arms like a stick. And she knew all this; and yet she had accepted him.

But it was a new day now. She wasn't dying anymore, she wouldn't be overwhelmingly obliged and indebted to the man that had brought her to safety; grateful, maybe, Carol was always like that, but probably nowhere even close to want to kiss him again or lie in the same bunk with him. Sure he knew she liked him and cared about him, but the mere idea a woman like her would ever consider a worthless piece of shit like him as something more than a friend, sounded like sarcasm in his ears. She could have a much better man by her side. Tyreese, for instance; he kept hovering around her and the bastard was so eloquent and graceful despite his size, a true gentleman in the middle of the fuckin' apocalypse. Daryl could never compete with his charm. Not that Tyreese was good enough for her either. There would never be anyone worth having her, end of the world or not.

It didn't make any difference, though, not really. It was final for him, no going back, no walking around the situation, no straying from his direction, no changing his mind. Men of his kind were just like that; most probably ostracized in loneliness for a lifetime, like Merle, but if they loved, they loved forever. With a transcendental finality that the only thing it bore resemblance to was death. Loving her was like dying, irrevocable, irreversible, unconditional, ineffable, endless; and then being reborn from his ashes. He was this man loving the woman tugged in his arms with every pore of his broken body, with everything he had in his soul. His journey had come full circle; she was both his birth mark and his dying breath. There would never be another woman. So he just stayed there, savoring the feeling of her body fitting perfectly next to his, expecting the verdict that would determine if the next day would find him licking his wounds in the shadows or cradling her in his arms.

He already knew, though. And he didn't want her to stay with him out of gratitude, anyway. Loving her desperately didn't mean he wasn't still proud and stubborn like a rock; Daryl Dixon didn't do pity. By the time she stirred in his arms, doubt and lack of self-confidence had conquered his mind completely, clouding his better judgment.

* * *

_Caryl_

She inhaled deeply and her eyes fluttered open; Daryl instinctively stroked her arm affectionately with his fingertips, completely convinced that she'd want him gone as soon as possible and his embrace would be left empty and cold without the sensation of her body in his arms.

Carol noticed that the curtains of her cell were drawn. That was the best she and Maggie had managed to do to provide everyone some personal space. While she and Daryl were asleep in her bunk, someone had obviously closed them to allow them some privacy. This was a good sign, meant they wouldn't get interrupted.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked groggily.

"A while," he grunted. "You okay?" he squeezed her a little closer. Was she? He just wanted her to be okay, just that. She didn't have to love him back or anything; she just had to be ok.

"I'm great." She tilted her head to meet him, beaming at him. "You?"

"Fine," he murmured sharply, disentangling her from him. He sat in the bunk with his back on her. Better get out of there before she ordered him to. Only she looked so pale and weak he had to grit his teeth to bring himself to ignore her wide eyes. "And you don't look great," he growled. Shit. Why was he like that? He was supposed to respect her desire, not try to hurt her back with harsh words.

Ouch. "Oh…" she gasped as if she was punched in the gut, a piercing pain from her stomach spread across her body. He hated her. He was disgusted by her love. She was such a fool for persuading herself that a man like him would ever cast more than a glance at her. A knot blocked her airway.

"I… What I mean is…" he floundered, "You're still very weak." He couldn't help worrying about her. What if he left her all alone and something happened to her? Once he was out of here, he'd go straight to Maggie and Beth, send them to keep an eye on her.

He turned to meet her eyes. She was half sitting on her elbows, looking miserable and breathing heavily, a painful grimace wrinkling her brow. Shit. His gaze lingered on the bump of her bandaged stomach under her shirt and then he helped her sit straight, hanging her legs off the bed till her feet touched the floor, trying to ignore his racing heart as she clang to him. Unscrewing the cap of her water bottle, he handed it to her. "Here."

Her heart had sunk. His hands were gentle against her body, but not tender. It was evident he wanted to run away. She took the bottle and swallowed a few sips hoping the water would clear her head. "Thank you." It didn't.

He stood up the moment she was done drinking, running out of excuses to stick around her a bit more. "Better go find Rick. He said something about clearing another block," he said coldly, readjusting his shirt and squinting at her.

She nodded. He'd have to hurry, if he didn't want to see her melt down.

Damn it, was she going to cry now? "You need anything?" he asked unsure of what to do.

"No," her voice trembled pathetically. Why wouldn't he leave already and spare her of the embarrassment to dissolve in front of him? It was clear last night meant nothing to him and he couldn't wait to flee.

The edges of her lips twitched downwards and she swallowed hard when a whimper jolted her chest, desperately fighting not to burst into tears.

He caught her misery. "What?" he rasped.

She shook her head, unable to speak. Her devastation was bigger after getting her hopes high, just like it's darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it was never lit in the first place.

"What?" he reiterated, his voice softer this time.

"Nothing," she said meekly.

"Ain't no nothing if you're crying," he eyed her warily. What did he do wrong? He'd empty her space and go deal with his sorrow alone. Maybe he was meaner than usual, but she shouldn't care, she was supposed to be glad he'd spare her the energy to turn him down.

She tried to smile. "It's not your fault. I just, uh… I'm a fool, that's all."

His eyes narrowed speculatively. Between them, he was the fool one, the redneck suffering a one-sided love, unless… Unless… "Why?"

"Just let it go, Daryl." Tears were rolling down her cheeks freely now faster than she could wipe them away, frustrating her even more and generating new ones to glisten in her eyes.

"Hell no!" he exclaimed. Unless he was wrong and she was crying because he had been so cold and distant and dismissive and… just a sheer asshole, really. "Why?" his voice thick was emotion.

She couldn't deal with it anymore. "You want me to make a complete fool of myself here?" she snapped exasperated, sobs violently shaking her body. "Am I not humiliated enough for you?"

He regarded her wild-eyed, watching reverently even the most subtle changes in her expression, an utterly emotional and devastating turmoil unraveling across her face.

"I… I just..." she shrugged, inhaled deeply, swallowed a huge lump back and blurted out, "I just thought last night meant something. Obviously it didn't. I must have hallucinated or something. Go now." Her gaze remained downcast the entire time she spoke.

He dropped on his knees in front of her, his heart pounding in his chest. It meant something? To her? Too? He frantically searched her eyes, but she turned her teary face the opposite direction, yanking away from him when he tried to cup her cheek.

"Just let me be. Please." she was begging now. She didn't want his pity. She just wanted to collapse in her cot alone, cradle the pillow he had slept on in her embrace, bury her face in it to sniff his earthy smell and cry her eyes out. And maybe try to find a way to get her stomach wound infected so she could die and save herself from the embarrassment, the pain and the rejection and also make it look like a random accident so that he didn't feel guilty for not reciprocating and… She mentally scolded herself; this was a rant.

"No…" he shook his head violently, clearly hyperventilating. "It did… It… it meant…" he stuttered, not really grasping what was happening there. "Shit, I just thought you'd regretted it."

"Regret what?" her mouth hang open in simultaneous confusion and alert, shed tears staining her cheeks.

He waved the space around him, opened his mouth to speak and shut it close again, words failing him, rational thoughts evading him.

"I'm lost here," she breathed in defeat, prone to pass out any moment now, her overall exhaustion and the impossible scene between them wearing her entirely. "Regret what? Kissing you?" she asked sheepishly, fatigue and disappointment creeping in her voice. Why was she even trying anymore? He didn't want her.

He jumped up and started pacing the length of the cell, running his hands in his face, threading his fingers through his hair.

"I dunno… All of it!" he almost yelled his despair.

"Did you?" She held her breath waiting for his answer.

"Hell no!" he bellowed his indignation. He was so angry at himself for hurting her despite his will he wanted to smash his fist on the wall.

She sighed. Their social skills were worse than underdeveloped when it came down to admitting feelings. They were like two retards trying to make a point when one of them is speaking English and the other Chinese; they were beyond ridiculous. But then again, this was so… them.

"Can we start this conversation from the beginning?" she requested, ignoring how spent she felt from both physical and emotional pain. A weak voice in her head was screaming at her to gather all her withered courage and give this a last shot. "We're being a freak show here." So… them.

He nodded.

"You first?" she pleaded.

He shook his head. He'd ruin everything, the ignorant pussy, the worthless, ball less, piece of shit he was. No way would he dare to initiate this. Only disaster lurks when Dixons mess with feelings. Plus if he'd hurt her once more, he'd blow his brains out or stick an arrow through his eye just to get over with this torture.

She sighed, wrapped her fingers around the bunk railing and tried to get herself up. He instantly rushed closer to help her, but she stopped him with a raised hand. Gritting her teeth and blinking the dizziness away, she steeled herself. She had to put an end to this, right here right now, hopefully not fainting before. She looked him straight in the eyes.

"I love you. I regret nothing," she finally said softly and simply, her voice a little more than a whisper.

He gasped and then puffed. And then he was panting.

"The only thing I regret is holding back for so long. I respect you, I admire you, I'm inspired by you, I want to be with you, I want _all_ of you," eyes lingering on him tentatively, longingly. He watched her motionless, ragged breaths escaping his lips.

"I can't hide behind my finger anymore," she went on steadily. "I can't ignore the elephant in the room. I'm too tired and too old and too drained from blood and strength to keep doing this. I refuse to die wondering what it might have been. If you feel nothing more than friendship for me, I'll never bring this up again. We'll be friends again and…"

"No." he interrupted her abruptly, chin trembling, voice husky. "No." He shook his head forcefully closing the gap between them and cupped her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks, rubbing stray tears away. "I do. Everything you said." He rested his forehead on hers, labored breaths burning her face, sending a quavering twist in her lower belly.

"I… I… Me, too." he groaned painfully his failure to articulate himself. "I… I dunno how to do this, always sucked with words." They were right in his tongue, why the fuck couldn't he just blurt them out? A delicate hand curled around his wrist and she tugged herself closer to him, eyes hermetically shut.

"But I do…" he grunted. "Everything you said. I do, too." He unglued their foreheads and put a few inches between their faces to lock eyes with her, waiting a moment before she opened hers. He had to make her believe him, to show her what he meant. Granted that his fuckin' mouth was failing him miserably, he hoped his eyes could do a better job telling her he absolutely adored her.

"Always will, I swear," he sighed, trying to control his shaking. They exchanged a long look, her blue eyes digging holes in his, but he held her gaze, returning the intensity with a passion and a ferocity that made her blink first. She lifted her free hand on his chest, over his throbbing heart, progressively taking in what he meant. Light-headedness claimed her and she shifted a bit, sealing her eyes shut in an attempt to maintain her precarious balance.

An arm curled around her waist immediately to support her, snuggling her on him while his other hand never left her face. "I can do better, I swear. I'll try to do everything to… to make you happy. I swear."

Eventually, a sudden attack of mind blowing happiness clenched her heart, her eyes shot open and her mouth cracked in to a grin. "You're doing great."

"Don't cry." he whispered, his lips scattering pecks in her wet eyes.

Her knees quivered. Her stomach growled and the cell started to spin. This was too much.

"Hey…" he gently shook the barely conscious Carol in his arms.

"I'm dizzy," she admitted begrudgingly.

He guided her back in the bunk, cradling her once again like a baby, smiling at himself. They were making a habit of it, he kinda enjoyed it.

"I have to bring you something to eat. And you need to rest. Get your strength back."

"You can go bring me something when I pass out," exhaustion with a twist of amusement in her voice, "But kiss me first. It won't take long before I do, I promise."

He giggled genuinely and she could swear she heard Cherokee roses blooming. He suddenly felt loved and competent and confident and absolutely in control of the situation that had him moaning in agony only minutes before. He could do this. She loved him. He loved her. He could do anything. He leaned closer, his breath burning her mouth once again. Her lips parted instinctively.

"Pass out all you want. I'll kiss you back to life." There it was, his crooked smile. "I got it."

That was the last thing that reached her ears before his lips brushed hers, a hot tongue slipping inside her mouth. They had no idea what to do or how to do it, all they knew beyond any doubt was that they would get it done.

Bliss.

* * *

_Pfff… My obsession with The Walking Dead and Daryl/Carol has reached an unhealthy level. Do I care? I'm afraid not._

_I really hope you like this drabble, I got completely consumed writing it!_

_I apologize if I overdid it with fluffiness, I couldn't help myself. But I tried to keep them IC :)_

_Thank you for reading :) Your reviews, positive or negative, would be extremely appreciated!_

9


	6. Tyreese (Part I)

**Summary:** Tyreese is too cosy with Carol and Daryl can't handle it. But he's missing something...

_Hey, everyone!_

_This one is a little different from the others, I hope you'll still like it!_

_Thank you all for the nice words :) Much appreciated!_

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

It was too early yet. Her duty watch shouldn't be up for another hour at least. Nevertheless, there she was, strolling down the prison yard taking all the time of the world, a bottle gripped firmly in each hand, closing slowly the distance between them, an object he couldn't discern from the top of the guard tower pressed between her lips. Something was off with her pacing, she swayed a little every now and then, slightly tripping on her feet, having to stretch out a hand to maintain her balance; she wasn't stumbling though. He narrowed his eyes; if he didn't know better he'd swear she was drunk.

A twitch of guilt clenched his chest tightly. He had been an asshole all day long; threw quite a temper at her in the morning and when she tried to sweet talk to him, he had insulted her in front of the others. He had bolted immediately, of course, leaving her alone to deal with the indiscreet glances. Well, it wasn't his fault though, at least not entirely. He had woken with a good and outgoing mood, as much as a Dixon was allowed to have without having people around him worried. He had even sought for her with no reason, just to check on her, not really wanting anything. And he had found her in the backyard, supposedly planting new seeds… Pfff! Yeah, right! She was leaning hard on her pickaxe giggling loudly at some joke he had obviously made and the bastard was touching her shoulder.

Tyreese… Always hovering around Carol, eloquent and gallant and sophisticated with words. Despite his heavy build, he was gracious and obliging and looking like a sleeveless gentleman the way he was showing around his charm. Daryl was ashamed he was so hostile with him; the guy was decent and had done nothing but contributing big time to their needs. He and his sister had turned out to be huge assets for the group. But Daryl didn't like him and he was angry everyone else seemed so eager and so fascinated to have him around; her included. It wasn't exactly that he didn't like him, he had nothing against him, really, and the few times they were trapped with each other he was just fine, but he was getting too cozy with Carol. She wasn't for his teeth, but then again, she wasn't for anybody's teeth. Not that she wasn't free to do whatever she wanted or hook up with whoever she felt like, it was just… At the thought of Carol being with him, his gut twisted in a way he knew it was wrong, that was all.

She had waved at him cheerfully when she saw him, ignoring his glares, or maybe she was just used to them. Tyreese took a step back immediately, resuming his digging; there seemed to be an unspoken pact between them never to stick their noses into each other's business.

"Not working much, huh?" he had growled to her, but her grin didn't fade.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it? Hasn't been that warm for what seems like ages," her sweet smile shoved away his crankiness. Damn woman.

He grunted his agreement, but his lips twitched upwards. "I'm gonna move the cars and fix some stuff later. Wanna join?"

That was a first. Daryl inviting her to something. Given his skittish, lonely nature, this was equivalent to a five course candlelit dinner under the moonlight date. Her expression became dead serious and she fidgeted uncomfortably. The hell of a bad timing they had.

"Um… Uh… We're going for a run later," she murmured motioning the space between Tyreese and herself.

We? WE? Who the fuck was WE? He saw red, blood boiling under his skin. Snorting his disgust, he whirled and walked away ignoring her calling his name.

She had caught up with him in the kitchen a few minutes later and approached him shyly. "Hey," she said timidly receiving a Dixon frown in response. "We can do something tomorrow, maybe?"

There was the "we" again. Sure, after she was done with the "we" that topped her priority list, she'd have spare time for the auxiliary "we". Pfff! He didn't give a shit anyway. Fuck this.

"Just get the fuck off my back!" he had barked at her face, watching her blink in surprise. Every other conversation in the room seized abruptly, curious eyes lingering on them, and he had run for the hills cussing under his nose.

And there she was again now, climbing up the stairs of the guard tower, following him around like a lost puppy. Crazy woman. And what she kept between her lips was a cigarette. Jesus.

When she popped behind the corner, beaming at him and swinging the bottles in the air all graceful and cute, a knot grew in his stomach. She leaned on the railway invading his space, too close to him to be comfortable, looking at him with fuzzy eyes.

"Tipsy?" he snorted.

She nodded smiling broadly, trying not to drop the cigarette. He swore loudly and pulled it out of her mouth.

"What do you want?"

"Company?" she shrugged. "I came bearing gifts…" There it was, her fuckin' sweet smile she had been so inadvertently spending around lately.

He remained silent. Not his type to play best friends only when she had nothing better to do.

"Run was a smash. We found all these wines and cigarettes and candies," her eyes drifted in the dark woods; she seemed weird.

His jaw clenched. Fuckin' WE again. Fuckin' Carol. Besides, he already knew. Everyone was so all over their heads with the treats, no one even bothered to ask why the fuck they came back two hours later than expected. Fuck this.

"It's nice to have something more than just the essentials to survive. Gives a sense of normalcy," she went on, absentmindedly.

Of course. He put his neck out in the open every fuckin' day to hunt in the woods and provide them food, but it was Tyreese and pink fuckin' candies that made them feel normal. Fuck this shit. Why was he even still standing here?

He put the cigarette in his mouth. "Did you remember to bring a lighter or we're going native here?"

Carol chuckled.

He hated her right now. He absolutely hated her. He wanted to slam her against the wall and… and… Shit.

Putting down the bottles, she dug her hand in her back pocket and revealed a packet of his favorite cigarettes and a lighter.

"Saved this one for you," she offered, eyelashes fluttering.

"Don't want it," he spat in her face. Huge lie. He could have killed anyone who laid a finger on this packet. Well, except her, but it was only because she had found it in the first place and she deserved to share, not that she got to receive any special treatment. Dixons didn't do privileges. Right? Shit.

He took the lighter despite his better judgment; their fingers brushed for the briefest moment and he gasped. When he lit the cigarette he had removed from her mouth, instantly aware of the dampness of her saliva in the filter, a weird, novel sensation of quivering in his lower belly made him wince. Fuck. He inhaled the tobacco.

She took one out the packet for herself, then handed it to him. "Light me?" her gaze darted on his face, the cigarette between the index and middle finger, close to her parted lips.

He huffed and lit it with a raised brow, locking eyes with her, his own cigarette squeezed between his lips. She coughed a little.

"First time?" he asked coldly.

"Second. I had one inside with the others," she laughed.

She handed him a bottle.

"I'm on watch," he dismissed her never lifting his hand.

"We're safe. And Rick said it's ok," she insisted.

"I'm still on watch."

"You'll be done soon. Just this one time?" she pleaded.

"No." He wasn't even facing her.

"Do you want me to leave?" she sighed. "Am I bothering you?" She sounded defeated and miserable, he hated that more than he hated her. Fuck.

"No," he admitted begrudgingly.

Carol motioned the bottle again towards him again; this time he grabbed it. "Shit. This ain't how it works," he scowled. He just didn't want to do her any favors tonight.

"Cheers!" she grinned to him clinking het bottle to his.

Before he could stop it, his lips twitched into his famous crooked smile. Her heart skipped a beat; she hadn't had her dose of this magnificent sight all day long. And today she needed him more than ever.

They both brought the bottles to their mouths, eyes never losing each others.

"Do I look like the wine type?" he asked disapprovingly.

"No. You look like the single malt whiskey type," she eyed him longingly.

He chuckled humorlessly. Yeah, right. She was already confusing him with Tyreese. "More like cheap beer, actually," he scoffed sarcastically. He was ruining it to her.

"Just have a drink with me, Daryl," she sighed, brushing her knuckles lightly on his arm, giving him the goose bumps. He tensed at the connection, but didn't flinch, ragged breaths escaping his lips.

She smiled; the expression in her eyes unfathomable.

"Does your boyfriend know you're here?" he blurted out, voice huskier than he meant it to be.

She shook her head. "I'm too old to have a boyfriend."

His chest tightened, she hadn't refused there was something going on between her and Tyreese. Hell, he didn't even have to clarify who he meant. Daryl felt sick. He drained the bottle, sweeping his mouth with the back of his palm, eyes burning holes in her face.

She took another sip, returning the feverish look, fingers nervously curled around the railing.

"What's wrong with you today?"

He said nothing, jaw set; she had noticed. Shit.

She put out the cigarette. "Tyreese and I, there's…"

"None of my fuckin' business," he interrupted her angrily. She could do whatever the fuck she wanted to do, he didn't have to know. Didn't want to. Although he wished he'd let her finish the sentence.

"Wanna do something tomorrow?" she offered.

"I'm going hunting, you can't come," he turned her down.

She drank some wine again, rubbing her lips together. He instinctively ran his tongue over his. Fuck.

"You better stop drinking. You're on watch next," he scolded her, voice thick with emotion.

"I'm fine. Not even remotely close to how drunk I'd like to be," she whispered.

Something was off with her. He knew it all day long, but couldn't really define it. "I can take over your watch tonight," he volunteered. Shit. Why did he say that?

"It's okay. I'm paired with Tyreese. Thank you, anyway," she said softly.

Daryl gritted his teeth, raw rage clouded his vision. Fuck, no! Half-drunk and trapped in a fuckin' guard tower for night watch with that asshole, how was that ok?

"I assume you've given up trying to be a useful member in the group, then," he accused venomously.

Her head snapped. "What?" she snapped, brow furrowed, her lips a slim line.

He had regretted that the moment the words escaped his lips. He didn't mean it and he knew how sensitive a topic that was for her; he just wanted to hurt her. Obviously, he had succeeded. And now he wished it had been harder because he hated himself more than anything, even more than he hated her.

"What did you just say to me?" she reiterated, shaking with rage.

"I didn't mean it," he murmured his embarrassment, keeping his eyes downcast.

Her eyes welled up with tears. "You're such an asshole," she growled.

"Watch your mouth or…" he snarled, but she caught him.

"You watch yours!" she hissed with a ferocity that left him dumbfounded. "Tyreese's in love with Michonne. He could really use some advice on how to knock down her walls and thought I was the right person because… because of you! Remind me to tell him what a fool he is!"

Daryl blinked, but kept glaring at her stubbornly. He wasn't going to step back; not now, not from that.

"And I wanted to get drunk and have fun and keep myself distracted tonight," Carol went on, tears rolling down her face.

"Of course you did," he commented flatly, eyeing her ruthlessly.

His reaction enraged her. "Sophia's birthday is tomorrow," she yelled furiously, pointing a finger to his chest.

He gasped.

His heart jolted.

He felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

This wasn't happening.

He hadn't done _this_.

"And I needed you! All I needed was you!" she cried desperately.

Daryl felt the world spin.

Carol.

What had he done?

"Hey…" he rushed forward to hold her, but she jerked away. "Carol…"

"Go to hell," she mumbled chokingly, between overwhelming sobs. The next moment she was running away from him, downstairs, her suffocating whimpers fading away.

He buried his head in his hands and leaned heavily against the wall. Sophia… He knew. And he had forgotten. The self-centered jerk, the colossal piece of shit he was. Consumed completely from blind jealousy, he finally admitted to himself. Too consumed to keep in mind what that day meant to her and what she meant to him. And now it was too late.

After a while, he heard the sound of boots approaching and Tyreese emerged on the top of the staircase.

"I came to take over," he looked at him blankly.

Daryl nodded. He surely knew. How was she? Was she crying? Was anyone with her? Someone to hug her and comfort her?

"Everyone is asleep," Tyreese said as if he'd read his mind. "I was up for the watch. Told her to go get some rest. She's a wreck," he went on looking at him straight in the eyes.

Daryl felt his knees failing him. He just wanted to collide his fist with the wall with everything he had, his face a distorted mask of pain and terror. He was panting.

Tyreese felt sorry for him despite himself. When Carol appeared in the prison, he'd thought she was the closest thing to a shipwreck he had ever witnessed. But staring at Daryl right now, he couldn't help but wonder if that's what a plane crash looked like.

"Man, you can be a real dick, can't you?" Tyreese patted his shoulder.

Daryl swallowed hard. "You have no idea," he breathed out and walked away.

The way to her cell seemed light years away. He didn't realize he was running.

* * *

_What do you think?_

_Thank you for reading!_

_Please review, I love the feedback!_


	7. Tyreese (Pary II)

**Summary:** Tyreese is too cosy with Carol and Daryl can't handle it. But he's missing something...

_Hey, everyone!_

_I have a confession to make… The previous chapter was intended to be a one-shot, leaving what could happen next hanging, that's why there was no "To be continued…" in the end of it. __BUT__, what can I do with all you, wonderful people? It was so obvious you wanted a continuation to that, I stopped the other drabble I was working on and wrote a second part to this story._

_Thank you soooooo much for the great reception of me and my stories :) I couldn't not return the favor and offer you a closure._

_I really hope you like it, it's fluff all over :) _

_PMs to all of you on the way!_

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

The prison was immersed in a gloomy, all-embracing silence. Stopping dead in his tracks at the entrance, Daryl felt all the courage drained from him, his heart throbbing violently, ready to tear his chest open and jump outside. They would never be able to talk in her cell in the middle of the night with the fuckin' block echoing every sound, given that she would be willing to offer him a chance to speak in the first place.

He really doubted that, though. Growling and barking and throwing tempers at her was a safe constant in his life and he sometimes felt, and he knew she let him feel that, like a spoiled child who was allowed to be unfair and mean and gruesome and hurtful occasionally and always get away with it. She would just take all the shit he'd throw at her enduringly, with her wide azure eyes locked with his and, when the entire burden was unloaded from him and his rage had eased off, she would swallow hard and force a forgiving smile or a soft touch on his arm to exempt him of the impending guilt she knew was lurking. Rarely would he apologize openly, of course, it wasn't like him and he couldn't find the proper words to, but he'd always contrive ways to make it up to her, be it a crooked smile, a paired duty watch, a hunt in the woods or anything really. In rare cases, well, not that rare since they had happened already twice in the last month, he would go over himself and join her in the domestic stuff she was always swamped with, leaning against the bars of her cell and watch her fold clothes or hanging his legs off the counter while she prepared dinner. Hell, he had even folded shirts himself once, not to mention that time he chopped onions causing an outburst of laughter from her side. He only behaved like a jerk in the first place, because he knew there would be no consequences; Carol would forgive him.

Every now and then, though, he couldn't help but wonder if there was an actual breaking point in her empathy and her unconditional acceptance, an upper limit that once trespassed, going back and fixing things would never be a possibility again. If one day enough would finally be enough and she'd never bother herself with his temper again. And now, in the deafening silence of the hallway, he felt the steel grip of terror around his neck. Maybe this was it, maybe this time he had finally broken her for good.

He stood in the door of her cell, narrowing his eyes to adjust to the pitch black. This wasn't like his usual visits in her cell, when she would wait for him surrounded by the cozy flickering light of her kerosene lamb. How she knew when to expect him was the greatest mystery of the world to him, it's not like they had a date or something. Most of his night visits were spontaneous to him, but she never looked startled when he'd pop up in her door. Especially lately. Whatever slow burn fire was brewing between them for a while, it had intensified after the Woodbury events with many of the newcomers thinking they were together. Carol kept denying it gently; Daryl found barking a more suitable response. But something imperceptible had indeed changed.

He could see her cot was empty, but adapting quickly with his heightened hunter senses, he was instantly aware of her presence, crumpled up on the corner of the cell. She wasn't crying, her breathing was calm and low, and in his overwhelming frustration, he couldn't decide if this was a good sign or not.

"I'm sorry," he cut straight to the chase. "I'm so sorry; I don't know what's wrong with me."

She said nothing, no sign she was listening to him; Daryl didn't even detect the tiniest change in her breathing.

"Um… Uh…" he shifted nervously on his foot, words failing him once more. He expected the slightest encouraging response from her part to guide him; even a blink would suffice, he could swear he'd hear the fluttering eyelashes in this dead silence, but she gave him nothing.

"It's… uh…" he floundered taking a step forward, fully entering her cell now.

"Don't come any closer," she demanded with a firm whisper.

He froze. How was he supposed to do this if he wasn't granted permission to approach her? He had run there like a haunted man to draw her in his embrace and offer her comfort and support; she could curl up against him and nest her head in his neck to get through the painful day and he would just stay there, clinging to her warm body, sharing her grief. Sophia was almost as much of a loss to him as it was to Carol and they had both accepted that; her disappearance had brought them closer in the first place and they both cherished this relationship too much to ignore it.

He was ready to confess how blindly and irrationally jealous he was of Tyreese and to admit that even for an emotional cripple like himself, this was enough of a wake-up call to shock him to a brand new reality in which he had feelings for her. And even if this didn't suffice in the first place, the paralyzing fear of losing her he felt right now had effectively worked as a massive kick in the rear. They weren't friends, they weren't siblings, they weren't companions. The violent wrench of his stomach and the raw desire spreading in his lower belly clearly suggested otherwise; even he couldn't remain oblivious to that anymore. Tyreese's presence had triggered everything, but the feeling thrived a long time ago, he knew it now, and the fear of losing her had urged him forward to the point of professing it.

"When I saw you with… with…"

"Don't you dare make this about you," a slow growl came from her direction.

"Carol…"

"It's past midnight," she ignored his plea sternly. "Today is for my daughter. And you are the last person I want around."

Panic started getting hold of him. "I'm sorry… Really…"

She jumped on her feet to be in the same level with the intruder in her cell.

"I don't care. Get out," she dismissed him.

"Carol… Please…"

"I'm done with this shit."

"What do you mean?" he gasped. Done? Done? They hadn't even started yet.

"You. I'm done with you," she stated matter-of-factly.

"I just wanna be here. I won't be bothering you," he blurted out quickly.

"Get. Out. Now." The growl was back again, but not loud enough to cause a scene.

He instinctively stumbled two steps backwards until he was out in the hallway, watching her approach only to shut the curtains of her cell, never meeting his eyes. He stood still staring at the curtain between the two of them for a long time, panting, his mind unable to come to terms with what had just happened. She was done with him. This time he had pulled the thread between them so violently, he broke it. And she was done with him.

He spun around to run for the hills, but a soft sniffle from inside her cell stopped him. "Sophia…" he heard her mumbling. She was done with him. And it made perfect sense, he had to admit this much. But he was nowhere close to be done with her. He had just caught up with his feeling. He would stay. He would stand guard outside her cell, silently sharing her sorrow even if she didn't want him there. Leaning hard with his back against the bars, he collapsed on the floor and buried his head in his hands trying to steady his breathing. All he wanted was to hold her, to share her memories of Sophia. He was willing, for the first time since they had met, to deal with her crying; he needed to hug her and share her pain and just let her know that he had finally realized what she meant to him and there was nothing he wouldn't do to win her back. But it was too late. He had hurt her too much and she was done with him.

* * *

"This is how you're keeping an eye on her?"

Tyreese was towering over his slouched body, frowned. Daylight was slowly creeping inside; shit, he had fallen asleep. He lolled his head to find the curtains of her cell open and the cell empty, immediately jerking on his feet.

"She's fine, cleared some walkers outside the fence, probably wanted to get some tension off. Maggie just replaced me, told me Carol would rather be alone today," the big man updated him.

"You let her go out alone and kill walkers?" he growled at him.

"I had her covered the whole time. You didn't do much of a job keeping her inside anyway," Tyreese scolded him.

He was right, Daryl knew it. "Better go huntin'," he muttered, fastening the crossbow on his shoulders.

"What? Go find her, man!" Tyreese was almost yelling at him.

"She doesn't want to be anywhere close to me," Daryl announced pathetically.

Tyreese couldn't help but chuckle despite himself. "Shit, man, you're a dick AND a fool!"

Daryl shot him a glare.

"What? She told you she doesn't want to see you again? She told you to stay away from her?"

He nodded. That was pretty much the point.

"Go find her. If she shoots you, hide behind a tree. If she punches you, take it like a champ. If she spits on you, here…" he handed him a tissue.

Daryl took it absentmindedly. "What if…"

"She does. You just have to remind her," Tyreese interrupted him.

"I suck at this shit," he admitted staring stubbornly at his boots.

"I've figured, but I bet she already knows that. Now, get your ass out of here. And don't be fool enough to come back alone."

He was suddenly running again, crossbow hanging in the back. A questioning look to Maggie was all it took for her to point towards the field in the west side of the prison. She was nowhere to been seen, his heart started racing; his legs couldn't get him there fast enough. What if something had happened to her? Closing the gate behind him he started following the dead bodies of stray walkers, randomly lying on the ground every now and then.

And then, there she was. Sitting motionless in the middle of the field, hugging her legs and resting her chin on her knees, her shoulders hunched, the blood-stained machete laid next to her. Her gaze was fixed somewhere far away, silent tears streaming down her pale skin. He kept running.

Her head snapped at the sound of the approaching boots and her hand instinctively reach out for the machete. Daryl felt a twitch of pride in his chest for her reflexes and her ready-to-fight stance. He could hardly remember that there used to be a time when, between fight and flight, Carol Peletier would pick flight. She was all for fighting nowadays, especially under emotional pressure.

She instantly frowned at the realization of who he was, picked herself up and bolted to the opposite direction. She wanted to get away. But he was faster and this time he wouldn't leave her. Catching up with her, he grabbed her firmly, wrapping his arms around her waist, trying to whirl her to face him. Startled and frustrated, she dropped the machete, but her hand jerked, colliding with a loud clasp on his cheek, a strength none of them knew she possessed. Her own action shocked her enough to slow her down for just a moment, but that was all he needed to overcome the surprise and the burning pain of her slap and steel his grip around her back, tugging her forcefully against him.

She fought tooth and nail to untangle herself from the unyielding embrace, sobbing and groaning hysterically through gritted teeth. But she couldn't outpower him.

"Stop," he whispered, one arm lifted between them to protect himself from her ferocious fighting. "Stop."

She was hitting and punching his chest, scratching him with her nails, twisting her body, kicking desperately, channeling everything she had to free herself. "Let me… Hate… You… Go… Sophia… My baby…" choking, unfathomable words escaping her lips.

"Stop! Stop!" Once he managed to cup her nape with his hand, he pinned her against his torso in an unbreakable grasp. "Stop it now. I'm here. Stop it," he kept whispering in her ear. She didn't quit her fighting immediately, but she could hardly move any more, her fisted hands crushed between them, and she made a shrill, squeaky sound, almost suffocating beneath his stone embrace.

"Stop. Stop. I'm here." His voice was right there, his labored breaths burning her ear, his thumb stroking the back of her neck. "I'm here." He was kissing her temple now and her ear and the corner of her wet eye, rubbing the stinging tears with his lips, whispering to her to remind her of his presence, until her strength and tension withered and all that was left from the previous fury, were the agonizing sobs in the crook of his neck and her shaking body.

"Sophia…"

"I know. I know."

He allowed a trembling hand to crawl up to his neck, pulling him even closer. Finally, she inhaled sharply, taking in the scent of his skin beneath her face, drawn back to reality. "Daryl…"

Instead of an answer, new kisses littered the side of her face turned to him. She finally relaxed completely in his arms, soft whimpers escaping her lungs every now and then and he relaxed his own grip in response. She tilted her head and met his wary gaze. "Sophia," she told him with a sob.

"I know," he rasped, grave concern mirroring in his eyes. "I'm here."

A new sob escaped her at the sound of his words. His lips found her eyes tenderly now, moving slowly from one to the other, trailing her face, wiping tears, caressing the corner of her mouth, his arms holding her tightly. She was frozen in the spot, her own lips parted, eyes closed, and when his mouth covered hers shyly, he felt her reciprocating.

"Daryl…"

"I'm here."

* * *

After a while, he was resting with his back against a tree trunk, her head in his lap, fingers intertwined, looking at each other in silence, sharing their grief.

"Talk to me about her," he asked softly.

She smiled sadly. "You would have loved her, if you had the chance to get to know her better."

"She was just like her mom. I bet I would," he confessed, locking eyes with her, silent messages conveying between them.

She brought their holding hands in her lips, kissing his knuckles adoringly.

"At her sixth birthday…"

The end.

_So, what do you think? I tried to do my best since I didn't have this chapter in mind in the first place!_

_How do you feel for a majorly angsty chapter coming up next? And I mean the oh-my-God-I-can't-breathe-I-think-I'll-throw-up kind of angst! From Carol's point of view, since this story was focused on Daryl…_

_Thank you for reading :) Please review, nothing more motivating!_


	8. The Pond (Part I)

**Summary:** Let him live. Just let him live and do whatever you want with me. But let him live.

**Warning: Content may be disturbing for certain readers.**

_Hey, everyone!_

_Ughh… I love this chapter, although I almost got sick writing it!_

_Hope you like it too!_

_**Peta2:**__ Thank you so much! We clearly share a brain you and I :) _

_**SOA loving mom:**__ I hope you'll keep coming back for more for as long as I keep writing :)_

_**dark-hatake:**__ I love your reviews so much, I'll start translate them and post them on the wall of my bedroom :) Seriously, I hope I deserve all this niceness!_

_**Haitus80:**__ Words are not enough. I woke up today thinking I have to update before you make your morning coffee :) _

_**collective2220,LaurenEmilyxx, Yazzy x, Velvetemr73, Dixon-Vixen 13, crystal2817, Athlete Girl, Coffeaddictionx: **__Great to have regular reviewers :) Funny thing is I have started looking for your names every time a review is posted. Thank you :)_

_As always, I'll do my best to PM everyone :)_

_Thank you so much for reading, I'm grateful to you all. It is the first time I let people read my stories. I've been writing for years, but not even those closest to me were ever allowed to get anywhere close to my stories. My insecurity for writing in a foreign language had always been overwhelming. Your reception makes me feel great!_

_I apologize in advance for the angst that follows. It got so intense at some point I had trouble breathing._

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

She was running like she had never run before in her life, almost flying, feet barely touching the ground. Her boots were slipping in the mud, but she didn't pay attention, slowing down wasn't an option for her. She was running like her life depended on that.

No like. Like was redundant. Her life depended on that, period.

She couldn't remember the reason they had such a big fight earlier. They sent off Tyreese and Sasha and stood by the prison fence for a while, enjoying each other's company; private moments were rare in the overcrowded prison. They were the only people in the yard at the moment, even the guard tower was empty. After the Governor disappeared, murdering his own men and most of the Woodbury survivors joined their group, a sense of normalcy and security had been restored. But they had let their guard down significantly, neglecting duty watch in daytime and rarely patrolling the perimeter anymore. Rick and Daryl couldn't be more displeased by this twist that seemed completely impossible a couple of months ago, but they couldn't do much about it.

Ever since she and Daryl had admitted their feelings and decided that they were together, every day had been a struggle for mutual compromise, for meeting each other half way. Surprisingly enough, though, no matter what happened during the day, nights always found her cradled in his arms, safe and sound. She loved him. And it was as plain as daylight that he loved her too, even if he never said the actual words. But their quarrels were frequent and heated. Daryl would lose his temper immediately growling hurtful things to her and Carol didn't tolerate being bullied anymore. That's how things went bad once more that morning, out of nowhere. She had mentioned something about going for a supply run with Maggie and Michonne without thinking twice about it and he snapped, spitting at her face that he was tired of her stubborn ass and couldn't care less if she got herself killed. Carol had put her foot down and stood her ground frowning and yelling back that she'd do her best to get bit so he could have it his way. She had then noticed his eyes narrowing, focusing somewhere in the distance between the pond and the forest, but when she followed his gaze she didn't see anything.

"Get the fuck off my back and tell Rick to get out here", he barked at her, opening the gate and walking purposefully towards the pond, crossbow hanging in his back. She was so furious he had bolted like that to go hunting or do whatever the hell it was he did every time he got angry that she couldn't control her trembling hands. Walking slowly her way back to compose herself, she never turned her head to check on him until she reached the prison entrance. And then her heart stopped at the sight.

Daryl had pinned a man she identified as Martinez on the ground, next to the pond, punching him in the face, when a huge black man whose name she didn't know surprised him from behind, striking him with a bat in the back of his head. Daryl was thrown off balance, reeling from the sharp blow.

A guttural cry escaped her lungs. "Rick! Rick!" and then she was running like crazy to him screaming his name as the two men dragged him in the pond and sank his head in the water. She didn't even bother securing the gate behind her, left it swinging aimlessly back and forth with a grim creaking as she sprinted downhill, snaking her way through some stray walkers. She was crying and panting, her chest clenched painfully as she watched his body jerking and kicking hopelessly under their stone grip, knowing she wouldn't be there in time. She was unarmed except from her small knife but she didn't care. When the black man turned to face her, stepping out of the pond, he didn't even bother to draw his revolver and just shoot her. A wry smile spread across his face as he obviously underestimated the threat this hysterical tiny woman could pose to him.

* * *

"_You're too big", she had shrugged._

"_What?"_

"_You're too big", she repeated. "No way I can outpower you."_

"_Size doesn't matter."_

_Carol immediately raised a brow, and shot him a teasing smile._

"_No,no,no, don't go down this path now", Daryl lifted a hand, mentally scolding himself for opening that door to her . "We're practicing now."_

_She behaved, really curious how a petit figure like hers could stand against a well- built man._

"_It's all about proper body posture and knowing the right moves…"_

_He kept showing her again and again. That night her body was stiff and covered with bruises, her rib sent stabbing pain with every breath, after a clumsy collision she had with his elbow, even if he tried his best not to hurt her._

_It had taken her weeks of meticulous, scrupulous and often incredibly painful practice and then one day he had landed hard on his back, bursting into laughter at her childish gloating._

* * *

The image of him laughing whole-heartedly with her was engraved in her mind as she watched his body going still in the pond. The huge man was blocking her way. She twisted skillfully and buried her knife in the man's eye before he had the chance to blink, with a prowess that would make _him_ proud if he could see her. Instantly she took a defensive stance ready to fight off Martinez who lunged at her, only to be stopped by a bullet jammed on his forehead, his body collapsing half ashore and half in the pond. Carol didn't even turn to see who had taken him out, stepped on his corpse and leapt in the freezing water.

Daryl was floating face down into the pond.

She vaguely recalled watching about it on TV, back when TVs were part of her battered, meek routine and not a distant memory almost irretrievably immersed into oblivion. Adrenaline rush, it was called. When human body releases adrenaline, the muscles perform respiration at an increased rate, therefore improving the strength of the person undergoing the adrenaline rush. The person in question is, thus, capable of superhuman physical strength, the performance of which is further magnified by the release of dopamine and endorphin which act as natural painkillers. That's what was happening to her, then, she thought, otherwise how could she explain the fact that knocking down a wall seemed to her like a piece of cake now? Or that she grabbed him from the armpits and turned him over like he was a feather before clasping her hands together around his chest and drag him to the shore with minor effort, completely unaware of the true weight she was carrying.

As soon as she laid him down on his back her fingers were palpating his carotid desperately searching for a pulse, terror creeping into her veins at the sight of his sealed eyes and slightly parted blue lips. The moment she felt her heart throbbing in her ears but nothing beating beneath her fingertips was the moment something inside her snapped. The world around her seized to exist, devoured in the bleak haze that precedes the looming havoc.

He deserved to be granted every fighting chance. She deserved to be granted every fighting chance for more time with him. Losing him was not an option. Daryl's death would be her personal equivalent to a nuclear disaster and she had already survived one when Sophia stumbled out of the barn. How many of these can one person overcome? Carol knew beyond any doubt that she had reached her limit.

Rick reached them immediately, breathing heavily, the riffle that killed Martinez hanging from his shoulder. Michonne, Maggie, Beth and Glenn were right behind him, taking out every approaching walker.

She started working on his lifeless body frantically, interlacing her fingers in the center of his sternum. Focused on transmitting every ounce of strength her body possessed into applying deep enough compressions to his chest, she made the ultimate attempt to manually pump blood into his heart in order to restore spontaneous blood circulation.

This was her punishment for Sophia, she knew it. For not fighting for her like a mother should have, for not even bringing herself to go to her funeral. Daryl had forgiven her, but whatever almighty, ruthless, vindictive deity was ruling their lives obviously hadn't. This time she wasn't giving up, though. Supernatural beings could go fuck themselves.

Rick's gaze drifted between the protagonists of the drama unraveling in front of him. His eyes stopped speculatively in Carol's figure and couldn't help but wonder if she had lost her mind and if this was how he looked like after Lori's death. She was sobbing, shifting all her weight on him, ragged breaths escaping her throat, brow furrowed in utter concentration, choking and mumbling unfathomable words, but painstakingly working on him with the sufficiency of a robot, never missing an inch, never wasting a second.

"Should we take him to daddy?" Maggie asked him wide-eyed, holding a weeping Beth in her arms.

Rick shook his head. Carol was doing everything that could be done for him.

The rapid-fire pace of her desperate efforts jumbled the events surrounding them. The center of her universe, the motionless figure of the man she loved under her hands, consumed every ounce of strength she had, demanding peremptorily her full attention and ostracizing everything else in light years distances. Unregistered movements of people hovering around them, distant gasps and whimpers, unrecognizable faces, hushed conversations, a blur; that was all the rest of the world was to her.

One, two… "Daryl!" Jesus, who was making these shrill wailing? They resembled more to howling wolves than real people. Seven, eight, nine… How long had he been there? Surely no more than a couple of minutes. This shouldn't be too long. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… What if he already was in the transition process? What if she had lost him forever and he was about to turn into one of _them_ under her hands? Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three… No,no, no, no. NO! He'd be just fine. She couldn't live without him. Thirty.

Bringing his head to the right position, she pressed his forehead upwards, tilted his chin and pinched his nose. First breath. Chest rises, chest falls. Second breath. Each time she blew air into his mouth, she could visualize one of her secret cat's lives conveying into his lifeless frame. Once she drew back to check his pulse, his head droop laxly on the side.

He was completely unresponsive.

"Do you want me to help you?" Rick asked. She moaned something more to herself than to him. Rick doubted she had heard him, doubted she was aware of all them standing around them. The sound of her desperate cries calling his name made his skin crawl, reminding him of the dying shrieks of a deer. She seemed completely spaced out, like arguing and negotiating with something invisible to the rest of them. He wondered absently what would happen to Carol if Daryl died, if they would be able to pull her back to them.

And Daryl was most probably already dead. The sight of him was completely unnerving, his limp body twitching, coordinated to the periodic strong compressions she forced on his chest, water overflowing from his mouth. Despite Carol's best efforts, Daryl gave no sign of response. Rick felt a lump swell in his chest. His best friend. He was losing his best friend. In that moment he didn't care for the skilled hunter, the badass crossbow-swinging warrior, the excellent shooter, the tracker, the fearless protector the group would be deprived of, he didn't ponder on how much weaker their rag tag family would be left after Daryl was gone; he just felt his heart breaking from pain at the thought of his best friend dying like that, of the woman next to him being left alone again.

One, two, three, four… Was this all, then? Would this be the way it would end for him? No way, Daryl was too strong to go like this. Everyone would bet he'd be the one to outlive them all. And it only made sense. Eleven, twelve, thirteen… But, after all, no matter how strong he was, he wasn't invincible, indestructible, some kind of real life superhero going incognito using dirt, sweat and blood instead of a costume. Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one… In the end of the day, he was just a man. Twenty-seven, twenty-eight… The man she loved. Thirty.

"We have to get her away from him", Michonne told him decisively.

"No yet", Rick rasped voice husky with emotion.

"It's too late. She'll be in danger any minute now. She's in no condition…"

"She'll be fine", Rick interrupted the woman abruptly, squinting at her, the double-edged meaning of his words hanging.

"Who do you want it to be?" Michonne asked him warily, her lips a thin line.

She was already holding her katana, fingers curled firmly around the hilt. Behind her, Glenn was checking the chamber of his gun, peering towards Daryl's body, looking defeated.

"I'll do it", Rick gritted his teeth and inhaled deeply, glassy-eyed. "I own him this much." He drew his gun from the holster and took a step closer to Carol and Daryl.

He had to protect her both from herself and from Daryl right now. She'd probably keep doing this forever, but none of them had so much time. Especially Daryl. They couldn't tell how long it'd be before he turned; sometimes it took hours, some others it was a matter of minutes. He had to get the job done and avoid thinking about it too much, otherwise his courage would abandon him. Daryl would never forgive him if he allowed the walker version of himself to hurt her, even if it wasn't really _him_. Carol was the one person in the world he'd protect at any cost, his life included, if it meant keeping her alive. And vice versa. That was how these two were, just like that. Rick should make sure he kept her safe for him, even if that meant that she would never forgive him.

She readjusted his head. First breath. Thick tears from her eyes dripping on him. Please, please, please. Second breath. Five lives left. Her lives had kept her alive for so long, but they were running out so fast now. They had to be enough to save him. They had to. She didn't even bother to check for a pulse any more.

Panic overwhelmed her. She kept breathing for him and kept forcing his heart to beat for him and she was failing. Everything around her was spinning violently, her head was light, a growing knot in the stomach made her nauseous. She was failing. Failing. The one time that failure was not an option.

Rick took another step, closing the distance between him and the unlikely couple on the ground. Carol blew air into Daryl's mouth and resumed the compressions, not casting Rick a glance, seeming completely oblivious of his nearby presence.

One, two, three… I love you. I love you. I love you. Don't leave me. "Daryl!" Nine, ten, eleven… What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do? "Daryl!" Come back to me. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen… Daryl, Daryl, please. I don't believe in God anymore, I only believe in you. Please. Twenty-eight, twenty nine… I love you.

Rick felt his chin tremble. If only he could make these cries stop…

First breath. Jesus Christ, breathe! Come on! Second breath. I only have one more life to give you. Oh, God…

One, two, three… Oh, God…Take me, just take me. Spare his life and take mine instead. I don't know if you exist anymore, but if you hear me, take me. Ten, eleven, twelve… Let him live. Just let him live and do whatever you want with me. But let him live. Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one… Daryl, Daryl, please. Stay with me, please. Oh,God, spare his life, please. Please. Twenty-five, twenty-six… Do whatever you want with me. Let him live. Please. Let him live.

First breath. Daryl, breathe. Daryl! Take my life. Take it. It's the last one I have to give you. Just take it and live. Live.

She inhaled deeply to fill her lungs with oxygen for the second breath.

A finger jerked and she heard the sound of the gun's safety being removed.

_To be continued…_

_NOBODY dies, don't worry._

_Please don't hate me._

_I couldn't really give a full Carol POV, because I wanted to portray her as unable to keep track of anything around her or of any rational thoughts. So I used Rick's perspective to shed light to her emotional turmoil. I hope it worked._

_Thank you for reading :) Reviews are more than appreciated, as always._

_I'll go cry my eyes out now._

7


	9. The Pond (Part II)

**Summary:** Let him live. Just let him live and do whatever you want with me. But let him live.

_Hey, everyone!_

_Wow, so many people hating me for the last chapter… But it wasn't really a cliffhanger, was it? I spoiled it with capitals that everyone was safe :)_

_I didn't have time to answer back to you, I promise I'll try to catch up with everyone. _

_Just spent the whole day writing like crazy in order to update soon, but I'm afraid this chapter is not a good one… I didn't even make a decent check, so be prepared for any kind of errors. Anyway, I really tried my best!_

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

His body jerked erratically, head lolled to the side, coughing and gagging, water gurgling irregularly from his mouth and nose and, finally, his eyes hot open, squinting at the daylight.

Carol drew back and watched him speechless, stone-still, jaw clenched, a blank expression in her eyes, hands tangled in her lap.

Maggie rushed next to him, propping him on his side and slightly patting his back to help him ease his agony. Glenn and Michonne grinned at each other incredulously watching the unforeseen, blessed outcome in front of them, while Beth run to the prison to update Hershel and prepare to examine the almost drowned man.

Rick dropped the gun and fell on his knees, grasping Daryl's shoulder and rubbing his own eyes. "Thank God", he whispered. "Thank God."

Daryl gasped for air, still shaking violently from the sudden rebooting of his body functions. His blurry gaze instantly searched for the person that mattered the most. When his eyes drifted on her meek figure, the dead expression of her face startled him despite his haze. He reached out a hand and made a husky sound which resembled to her name.

At the sound of her name, she instinctively jolted forward as if she was forcefully slapped in the face and, leaning heavily on her hands, she started puking, empting the contents of her stomach on the ground. When there was nothing left, she rolled on her back, brought her shaking hands in her face and sobbed violently, her body shuddering uncontrollably as if shocked by electric current, guttural groans escaping her mouth, unable to assuage the suffocating pain in her chest, legs stretched out.

Everyone's attention drifted to Carol's hysterical breakdown. There was no relief in her ferocious outburst, no soothing whimpers ebbing off her previous terror; just painful spasms penetrating her worn body. She tried to hold on to the composed rational voice inside her head that kept repeating firmly that he was alive, very much alive and safe among them and that she hadn't failed; she had succeeded, she had resuscitated him against all odds. But this voice couldn't reach her wrenched gut or unshackle her heart from the stern snatch of desperation. Uncovering her eyes was a dreadful thought, meeting his was inconceivable. She wasn't sure if he was alive, making all these sounds or if her tortured mind was shamelessly mocking her; she definitely felt crazy enough to have visions and hallucinations of him. And if, by some miracle, she hadn't gone completely nuts and he was truly coughing his lungs out less than a foot away from her, she was sure he would vanish the moment she set eyes on him. That's just how cruel and vicious this world was to her.

"I'm fine. I'm okay", he reassured everyone ignoring the stabbing feeling in his sore throat, his ragged breaths finally stabilizing. "Carol!"

She didn't respond, didn't dare to even hope that he was calling her name, she was convinced beyond any doubt that this would never happen again, not even in her wildest dreams. The minutes he laid lifeless beneath her had broken her to the core.

Strong arms held her up and fingers curled around her wrists trying to tug her hands away from her swollen face. She confined begrudgingly, too spent from the former struggle to revive him to fight back significantly. Glenn and Michonne were leaning over her, grave concern wrinkling their foreheads, while tearless sobs kept escaping her throat. They stared at her warily and she returned a wild-eyed look. They were there too, she hadn't noticed.

"It's okay, you made it. Look!" Glenn encouraged sweetly, but she didn't react.

"Turn around", Michonne ordered, rubbing her arms roughly. "Quit this shit and turn around! Just look at him!"

Carol blinked.

"Stop yelling at her", a familiar growl reached her ears; mumbled and hoarser than usual, but this growl couldn't belong to anyone other than her redneck.

She whirled around and locked eyes with him only for a split second, before turning to Rick. "Better get him to Hershel", she said flatly.

She watched him trying to resist Rick and Glenn and crawl his way towards her, but didn't move an inch from her place. The last thing that reached her ears as they dragged him away with Maggie on their heels was his raspy voice asking what was wrong and Rick's concerned "She thought you died" response.

Carol turned to Michonne who was still sitting next to her and motioned towards Daryl's direction. "He's alive, isn't he?" she asked holding her breath, afraid that the answer might shutter her heart, or whatever was left of it, into pieces.

Michonne smiled kindly. "Yes. As alive as I am."

"I'm not crazy then, right?"

"Well, it was touch and go for a while, but I think you finally kept your shit together", she offered.

Carol felt gratitude for Michonne's light behavior; she knew it was feigned. "Thank you", she told her honestly, placing a hand on her arm.

"No problem. Maybe you tell him a good word tomorrow. I bet he'll be looking for me with the crossbow loaded", she laughed, but Carol's answering smile didn't reach her eyes.

When Michonne finally convinced her to return to the prison, she found herself anxious to get close to him again, to make sure for herself that he was alive. The two of them met Rick and Hershel in the hallway and Carol's heart skipped a beat.

"He's fine, he's sleeping", Hershel reassured her before she opened her mouth.

"He's fine?" she echoed, still unable to accept it.

"Yes, he's fine", Hershel reiterated slowly, to give the news time to sink in her. "It's you we're worried about", he went on when he had her attention again. "Rick tells me you had quite a breakdown out there."

Carol's head snapped. "Rick doesn't get to talk", she hissed, addressing to Hershel but glaring at Rick. "He drew a gun on us. On him!"

"Carol…" Rick pleaded, "I had to, you know I had to."

"Draw a gun on him?" she eyed him incredulously.

He nodded, hugging her tightly around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry", she mumbled pathetically burying her face in the crook of his neck. "I know. Something's wrong with me", she confessed, new tears welling up her eyes.

"You're pretty shaken", Hershel patted her back in understanding. "You're gonna be fine. Just take this and get some sleep", he said handing her a pill.

"A sedative?" she asked confused, but swallowed it immediately.

Hershel nodded. "It will help your brain slow down a bit", he elaborated. "That's all you need."

"I wanna go to him", she told him.

"Then who am I to stand in your way, sweetheart?" Hershel laughed.

Once in his cell, she couldn't unglue her eyes from his sleeping frame. He's chest was moving up and down with steady breaths and he seemed immersed in a peaceful sleep. She sat down next to his cot, resting her head on the thin mattress, counting his breaths.

She had almost lost him. She had lost him. For some minutes that felt like years, she had lost him. Long enough to know what it'd mean for her to lose him. And she hated the realization. Remembering how adamant he used to be about love being nothing more than a death sentence, doubt crept in her gut and for the first time in her life she wondered if there was a small chance that he was right and she was wrong.

* * *

"_For our young love birds", she had said to save him from the embarrassment as she tucked a box of condoms in her backpack._

"_Pfff", he had snorted. "Fools!"_

"_Maggie and Glenn are no fools", she protested. "They are in love!"_

"_Getting involved in the middle of the apocalypse?" he barked at her. "Pfff! Idiots! Feelings get you distracted and distracted gets you killed. Or give you a weak spot and weak spot gives your enemy leverage and you get killed again. Or the other dies and then you die too. Either way, you die."_

"_And don't you die anyway sooner or later?" she had mumbled with tears threatening to roll, quickly going back to the truck._

_They hadn't spoken a word on their way back to the prison that day. _

_One night a week later, he came in her cell with a dark desire in his eyes for the first time._

* * *

She felt much better when she opened her eyes in the dusk of the setting sun and exhaled in relief seeing him still asleep in his bunk. He'd be fine, too. She had woken up to check on him a couple of times, but the effect of the sedative forced her eyelids shut almost immediately. Picking herself from the floor, she walked close to him for the first time since the events at the pond, bent over and stroked his face adoringly with the slightest of touch, not wanting to disturb his serenity.

Collapsing in the shower beneath the flowing water a few minutes later without even bothering to undress herself, she tugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them, trying to think how the hell she'd be able to ever speak to him again without bursting into tears. Or how she'd ever face him again without fearing for his life. Never had Daryl come so close to death; that was her job. And he'd be the one to save her, never the other way around. Maybe somehow they could just shrug it off as her simply returning the favor and just go on like they usually did, not really making a big deal out of it. She just had to calm down and control her nerves and she'd know exactly what to do as soon as he woke. He'd probably be mad at her, both for running after him in the first place and for her lunatic reaction when he came around. Maybe he'd rather stay away from her altogether, to avoid the hysterics, the pain and the possible loss. Maybe. She'd know soon.

Sooner than she thought. The sound of his boots brought her back to reality and he popped up from the corner moments later, surprised to see her getting soaked to the bone in the shower.

"You realize I'd rather stay away from water for at least ten years, right?" he said, eyeing her cautiously, trying to weigh her expression, voice a hint rougher than normal.

She shrugged, trying to laugh the situation off. "Not much of a shower lover in the first place".

He leaned against the wall, folding his arms in his chest.

"You should be in bed", she tried to ignore the elephant in the room. God, she hated the way she felt under his gaze; it was as if he could see right through her, instantly aware of her emotional turmoil and her weakness to deal with it rationally.

"Figured I'd made clear you can't avoid me forever", he scolded her, but it was obvious he wasn't really angry, just worried mostly.

"I was with you the whole time", she whispered, eyes downcast.

"You were on the floor", he corrected her calmly.

Of course he had noticed. Even half dead, there was no way Daryl could sleep so many hours straight. He had probably checked on her more times than she had actually checked on him.

"I didn't want to bother you", she lied. I couldn't meet your eyes would be more sincere. "You almost died." At least that was true…

"Are you planning to quit this fuckin' shit any time soon? 'Cause I'm not feeling very much like myself yet", he yelled angrily for the first time.

He took a step closer and towered over her, but didn't enter the shower. Carol tilted her head to face him and smiled sadly. "I'm sorry", she said softly.

He sighed and finally joined her inside, toeing his boots off and falling hard next to her, shoulders touching.

"Look, I know…"

"Don't even…", she caught him lamely. "Please. You have no idea. You weren't… _there._"

"Rick told me", he clarified.

"Maybe Rick should tell me, too. Between dragging you out of the pond and your coughing your lungs out, I have zero recollection of the events", she admitted guilty.

She exhaled a huge amount of air she'd been withholding and turned to meet his wary gaze. Letting him know without scare him off was something she didn't know how to do, but she had decided a long time ago that secrets would never creep their way between them.

"It felt like I was losing my mind. Something inside my head flipped, I swear", she said blaming the running water for the wetness on the face. "You'd think that after everything we've been through, l was the resilient type."

"You are", he corrected her confidently. "You were just scared, is all. But you saved me."

She raised an eyebrow. "You sound quite weird yourself… All this talking and understanding… What? Irreversible brain damage due to lack of oxygen?"

"Naw… More like a wake-up call", he had her full, impervious attention again. "You're not the only one who almost lost everything out there."

"I know; I 'm sorry I make this all about me. I just… I know, you almost lost your life", she apologized.

"And you", he said matter-of-factly, holding her blue gaze, "And you."

"Fuck, Carol. All I could think about was you. And things… You know, things I never said or did", he admitted with everything he had to make her understand.

She was confused. It didn't look like he wanted to put a stop to whatever was happening between them. "You don't regret it then? Us?"

"Fuck no, I don't!", he exclaimed. " Do you?"

"You told me once that smart people don't get involved in the middle of the apocalypse", she reminded him.

He mentally kicked himself for all the bullshits he used to shove down her throat. "I was just being an asshole. That's what I do…"

"But you were right."

"What the fuck is that suppose to mean? You're ending this?" His heart started racing, his stomach jolted painfully. No,no. He hadn't run in panic after her when he woke up and she was nowhere to be seen to lose her; quite the contrary, he wanted her forever.

"No! God, no! I'll never be ready to let you go, Daryl. In any possible way. It's not an option for me. Smart thinking or not, I've never been one of wise choices anyway. It's just… I felt I was dying trying to will you to live… You don't know what that can do to a person."

"The hell I don't! You've put me through this shit enough times!" He dismissed her.

She swallowed hard and remained silent. He was right.

"What do you want it to be then?" he asked, feeling his head would explode.

"You", she shrugged and waves of relief washed his frustration away.

"The questioned is, what do _you_ want it to be?" she returned the question warily, her own insecurity twisting her heart.

His crooked smile brightened up his face, an unfathomable spark glistening in his eyes, but his lips remained pressed in a thin line. She knew that face.

"Words failing you again?" she smiled her sympathy.

He snorted his embarrassment and the inability to articulate his feelings. "It's fuckin' fight or flight, Carol. And I'm all for fighting, believe it or not. Let's fuckin' do this", he blurted everything out with one breath, his voice thick with emotion, searching her eyes for reassurance.

He found everything his was looking for in them. And a huge grin embellishing her face for bonus. "Go on…" she whispered, unable to grasp how her life had shifted from hell to heaven in hours.

She could see Daryl tried, he truly did. He blushed and stuttered and mumbled incomprehensible words and then he looked at her pleadingly like a lost puppy and then he bowed his head in defeat.

"Gimme a hand here maybe?" He breathed out.

She felt sorry and proud of him at the same time. Sorry for his crippled confidence years of abuse had subdued and proud of the man he had become on his own and the one he still fought to be. Her smile broadened.

She picked herself up and offered him a hand he willingly clasped to follow her. They were both standing directly under the shower now, water pouring all over them. Quietly she unbuttoned his shirt, taking all the time of the world to let him catch up and not flinch away. When she stripped his torso, she started tracing his body with the sponge, gently brushing the dirt off, the flowing water gradually wiping fear and constraints away. Following the sponge trail with her lips, she littered his wet chest with tender pecks lingering just a moment over his heart to feel the beat, hands caressing his sides and watched him close his eyes. She knew he was there with her, alive, and she knew he was there with her as a lover and a partner too. Last time her hands had touched his wet chest was that same morning, in a horrific, bleak, life threatening reality and she could remember of a time not that long ago, when the sensation of her hands on him and the fervent feelings they invoked him used to make him bolt, looking for a wall to punch, or a walker to smash, or a squirrel to hunt. But it wasn't this time and it wasn't this morning, either. It was right now and right there, it was a moment of happiness they were blessed with, a moment they didn't know if they would have enough time to live again; a moment to seal the unbreakable bond between them; a moment to cherish forever.

He slowly mimicked her movements, pulling her shirt off, unhooking her bra with a dexterity he didn't know he possessed and marveled at the sight of her naked breasts. Taking the sponge from her hand he did to her everything she had done to him, moaning over her delicate skin, making her knees quiver.

When he drew back, they shared a long moment staring at each other, ineffable messages conveying volumes of poetry between them. They were facing each other, but not touching, arms hanging by their sides. She knew that this was it, there was no going back from this moment; they had faced death and stood tall together. "I love you", she said simply.

Daryl nodded quickly, taking a moment to swallow the lump in his throat, his eyes burning holes in hers. "Me too", he whispered through gritted teeth, "I love you, too."

She smiled encouragingly. "Ok, remember to breathe now. Take all the time you need."

He exhaled a shaky breath, but never lost her eyes. "I'm okay. I'm ready."

"And although death lurks behind every corner…" she started unsure of how to continue.

"I still wanna do this", he interrupted her, feeling he had never spoken truer words.

She could see the honesty in his eyes; his effort to let her know moved her deeply. "Because living and surviving…" she went on, tears streaming down her face.

"… is not the same", he knew the difference now. She had shown him.

"And I'd rather live a day with you…" Her voice choked into a sniffle.

"… than a lifetime without you." His own trembling.

"Till death do us part, then?"

"Till death do us part."

They stared at each other for a long moment. She was the one to break the silence, a playful smile twitching in her lips.

"What a manipulative bitch I am! Brought you exactly where I wanted, didn't I?" she beamed at him.

He chuckled. "People here have no idea of the evil hatching under their roof", he wrapped his arms around her, eagerly searching for her lips. She reciprocated, immediately clinging to him, the sense of their touching chests sent waves of desire to every living cell of their bodies.

Their kiss was deep and passionate, tongues twirling together hungrily claiming domination, teeth biting and nipping each other's lips, savoring the moment, never managing to get close and deep enough to satisfy their aching lust. She gripped his head to unglue her mouth, leaving him panting for air.

"Make love to me, please. Make love to me like there's no tomorrow", she whispered, threading her fingers through his hair.

He lunged at her almost brutally, crashing her between his muscled body and the shower tiles, water lapping around them, and took her right there, with a passion and a ferocity common only to people in the death row, feeling her writhe with ecstasy under his steel grip.

The End.

* * *

_Did I just get them married? And keep telling myself I did it in a believable way? Shit, I have no idea what I'm doing :)_

_After all this heartbreak, I think I'll try to write something different next time… If you have any ideas, bring them on!_

_Let me know if you liked it! Or if you didn't :) Any criticism is welcome if it's polite._

_Thank you all for reading :) Your reviews would be extremely appreciated!_

9


	10. I Wish He Was Alive

**Summary:** "Sometimes I wish he was alive. I wish he was alive and I knew how to use this…" her eyes fixed on the knife. After practicing, Carol and Daryl spend some time talking about Ed.

_Hey, everyone!_

_Thank you for all the nice words!_

_It was a huge relief that you liked them getting married :)_

_I hope you like this story too :)_

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

They had just finished practicing. She was getting better. No, she was actually good. Soon he wouldn't have anything new to teach her about guns and knives. Maybe he should start showing her how to use a crossbow. If she wanted, of course. He wouldn't mind. He enjoyed the time they spent together. Months of denying that had led him nowhere; he had finally come to terms with the fact that Carol was the person closest to him. He cared. A lot. Nothing had happened between them, but lately his stomach twisted in a knot every time she smiled to him.

He had never looked at her as something more than a friend before. He didn't allow himself to. There is no room for that shit when you want to survive. It was after the Governor had left them alone and their lives resumed a more normal pace that he found himself longing for her company more and more. Glenn kept teasing him that they were married and he kept threatening that he'd kick his ass, but in the end of the day, he couldn't deny that something was brewing between then. And it was quite unfortunate his timing. His seemed to catch up precisely the moment Carol had accepted they were just friends. But he didn't care; it was Glenn's fault he had started doubting their sibling relationship in the first place. They were friends, period.

Disentangling the knife she had pinned on the trunk of the tree, he turned to find her staring at her lap, a grim expression spread in her face. She was holding her other knife and her gun, studying them as if she had never seen them before.

"What's wrong?" he asked abruptly.

She flinched and tried to laugh it off. "Uh… Nothing," she smiled shyly.

He raised a brow and leaned against the trunk, folding his arm in his chest, waiting. Carol was sitting on a big rock, right next to the creek that streamed through the forest.

She confined under his burning look, exhaling deeply.

"Sometimes I wish he was alive. I wish he was alive and I knew how to use this…" her eyes fixed on the knife. "Or that…" she pondered, drifting her gaze on the gun, before changing her mind and returning back to the knife. "No, I'd go with this one. Way more painful."

He had always wanted to know. Sure he knew Ed was an abusive son of a bitch, but he always wanted to know more. He had so many questions…

"Why did you stay with him?" he heard his voice asking faintly before he could control himself.

"After a while you feel that you deserve the abuse, that it's your fault," she wavered and then turned to face him, her eyes stabbing daggers in his. "But you know that, don't you?"

He nodded. Daryl didn't need explanations; he could understand almost everything. He just wanted to know, or just hear the things he already knew from the scars in her body and the sorrowful shadow in her blue gaze every time her mind traveled back to these times. It seemed like an eternity was standing between them and their past lives, but it was less than a year and a half ago. They had come so long, she and he. It was so obvious even Daryl could admit it to himself. He wanted more, he wanted details.

"Did you ever try to… uh.." he searched for the right words.

"To leave him?" she asked sadly. "Oh, I did… twice," her eyes darting on her lap again. It was the first time he had asked, she didn't know how much she could or should or wanted to say.

"Tell me," his voice was faint but firm.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

He nodded again.

"Promise not to lose your temper?" she asked seeing the tension radiating off his figure.

Shit, he was getting angry already. "I'll do my best."

She sighed, that was rarely enough. He stared at her intensely, silently encouraging her to tell him the whole story. Carol knew that he waited.

"The first time, Sophia was two," she started, the corner of her lips twitching in a smile at the memory of Sophia's chubby cheeks when she was a toddler. "One night he came back home drunk and said that dinner sucked. He shoved me down the stairs. I spent three days in the hospital with broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. When I got discharged I took Sophia and fled to my folks, begged them to let me stay there till I could find a job," she paused for just a moment. "Ed was banging the door like a bull by the next morning and my father said that a woman's place is in her husband's side. I never talked to them again. I was their child, how could they just hand me and their grand-daughter to my torturer without even a blink?" she was still wondering; all these years had passed and she had never forgiven them, never managed to find them an excuse for abandoning her like that.

Daryl felt rage boiling in his veins; he had to grit his teeth loudly to keep himself silent. He wanted to yell and cuss them. He wanted to scream that he hoped her folks were wandering aimlessly on this damned world as walkers, drooling saliva, chewing their own flesh, never cross roads with someone who would simply smash their heads, condemned forever in this torture for what they had done to her. But he remained silent, his jaw aching from the effort.

She steadied her breath trying to calm herself before continuing. "So, I realized that if I was to leave him, I would be alone in that. I started doing my best to save some money; it wasn't much, but all I needed was a head start, you know? Until I could stand on my feet… In the meanwhile, Megan moved to the neighborhood. Megan and her husband had two kids, we became friends immediately. Surprisingly enough Ed didn't mind this time. I was never allowed to have friends before, but he let me and Sophia spent time with Megan. I guess he was sick of me already and wanted me out of the house as long as he had me leashed. And Megan lived just across the street, so… I lost her somewhere in the havoc of running away during the breakthrough…" her voices drifted as the door of her past swung open and old memories flooded her.

"Anyway, after two years, I finally had enough money to go away again; Megan had given me most of it behind her husband's back. One morning, as soon as Ed left for work, I packed the car, grabbed Sophia and drove away. We moved at the other side of the country, nobody knew our exact location. Megan and her husband tried to mislead him, but it didn't work… Twenty three days later, Sophia disappeared one morning. I almost lost my mind. That same night, Ed called and told me I had one last chance to go back and be with my daughter. I never learned how the hell he found me. I succumbed to his blackmail, of course. When I showed up in his place, he had been waiting. That time I spent a month in the hospital," she was twisting her fingers nervously now, tears welling up in her eyes. "First week in the ICU doctors didn't know if I'd make it. He had started punching and kicking me until I was on the floor. In the end he grabbed me from the hair, I used to have long hair back then, and whacked my head against the counter again and again, until…" she kept her eyes downcast, staring blankly at her hands, tears rolling freely down her face, voice nothing more than a whisper.

Daryl was infuriated. He wanted Ed alive in front of him so that he could give him a taste from his own medicine and see how much of a man his was against him and not against a woman half his size. Oh, no, he wouldn't kill the bastard… Not before making him spit out all his teeth one by one, count every single bone of his body crack and cough blood. His breaths came out ragged and he felt nauseated. He wanted to hug her, but he didn't know how; he wanted to tell that he hated himself every single day for not helping her back in the quarry, but he didn't know how to do that either. He wanted to slam his fist against the tree trunk and hear his knuckles shuttering, but he didn't want to scare her.

So he did something he rarely did and he did it for her. He swallowed his rage painfully, pressed his lips in a firm line and walked closer to her, his boots stopping mere inches from her own, but she didn't find the courage to face him, lost in her own painful memories and ashamed of herself. He sat on the ground, next to her feet, bowing his head lightly to meet her gaze. When her eyes finally drifted on him, trying to force a sad smirk and miserably failing, he could see how devastated she was.

"I put my child through hell," her chin trembled, soft whimpers escaping her chest, but he didn't mind. It was the first time he didn't feel like turning his back and bolt at the sight of her tears. "I was too weak to protect her… She watched her momma get beaten up all her life," she choked, but swallowed the lump.

He put his hand on her knee, squeezing it awkwardly. "You were alone," Daryl murmured, his voice huskier that he meant it to be. "Nobody cared. All you needed was a chance… But nobody cared."

"Megan did," she whispered.

"It didn't matter," he shook his head. "She couldn't do anything. People who could, didn't care."

They remained silent for a while.

"I never tried anything again after that," she shrugged when she was composed enough to speak again. "I just cut my hair so he couldn't grab me."

She covered the callous hand on her knee with her own, afraid that he'd jerk away. When he didn't, she stroked tenderly his rough skin.

"I hated him. God, you have no idea how much I hated him. Not just because I was nothing more than a punch bag to him for the greatest part of our marriage. But because he killed the man I had fallen in love with," she confessed. "The Ed you met had nothing in common with the Ed I had met. I never stopped searching his eyes to find the man that used to say he loved me. I never forgave him for killing that Ed, for not giving us a chance to happiness. Sophia deserved that. And now I know I did too."

He snorted his disapproval, a twist of jealousy clenching his chest. "The Ed you were looking for never existed. It was that asshole all the way."

"Maybe," she admitted. "That doesn't mean my love for him was any less real."

He knew he was a fool, he couldn't be jealous of her dead husband, he didn't even have the right to; but he couldn't help it. Carol's love shouldn't be wasted to that asshole; she should have never opened her heart to him. There were other men for her, men like… He squeezed her knee again, not trusting his voice to say anything, his brow furrowed in grave concern. Her expression suddenly changed, panic crept in distorting her features.

"He never laid a hand on her, not even a spank, I swear!" she exclaimed out of nowhere, as if to justify herself, eyeing Daryl like was a judge. "He always had me blocking his way and it drove him crazy. Every time I ended up in the hospital, Megan would take Sophia in her place. Ed didn't want her in his way and he couldn't care less where she was as long as she didn't bother him. He never laid his hand on Sophia. Never," she reiterated sternly. "I made sure of that."

"I know," he replied reassuringly. "I remember you in Atlanta; you always kept her away from him. And you ended up with new bruises later."

"It's… It's not just that…" her hands started shaking. "Had you noticed? How…"

He nodded, instantly aware of what she was talking about.

"It had only started in the quarry, never before. The way he was looking at her… His own daughter! God!" she wept, burying her face in her free hand.

"Did he…"

Her head snapped. "No! Never!"

"Okay…"

"You don't believe me?" she asked wild-eyed.

He twisted his hand under hers and grabbed her fingers. "Of course I do."

A shaky sigh of relief escaped her lips. "But I knew I couldn't stop him for much longer. Stop him from beating her was one thing, but…" her face became expressionless, her voice flat. "I would have killed him; I knew what I had to do. Before he even had the chance to touch her. In his sleep. Walkers got him first."

Daryl was shocked. "God, Carol…" his heart was racing.

"Not that in the end any of that mattered to my little girl," she breathed.

They stayed there, holding hands, unspoken messages conveying between each other.

"I wish I had done something for you," he confessed, his fingers still holding hers.

She smiled. "You have no idea how much you've done for me…"

"No. No… I should have stopped him," he continued kicking himself.

"Stop it, Daryl. Just stop it, please," she scolded him. "We've been through all that with Sophia. Not everything that happens to me is your fault."

She tilted his chin to force him to meet her eyes. "You have saved me in every possible way. Better start believing it yourself, because I have no doubt about it," she told him softly and watched him blush.

"I've thrown every kind of shit to you. And not just once." This was his way to apologize for every hurtful thing he had ever spat on her face and bitterly regretted later.

She knew, of course. "Well, that's what friends are for," she smiled broadly.

The moment she called him "friend", it felt like she had slapped him in the face.

* * *

_I really hope you liked this one :) _

_I always felt that the show never gave Carol enough screen time to tell us her story and they really should! So I tried to do justice to her, shedding some light to these blind spots. Her plan to murder Ed was based on what she told Andrea to do with the Governor._

_It felt great writing this story. There is no action or Caryl fluff, but I wanted to give them a bonding moment. :)_

_Thank you for reading! Your reviews would be extremely appreciated!_

6


	11. Sweet Words (Part I)

**Summary:** Carol was in the Governor's hands. His Carol. The Carol he was supposed to protect and keep alive. "Do as he says, baby", her voice was gentle and confident, but he caught her swallowing hard as the tongue of the lunatic behind her licked her ear.

_Hey, everyone!_

_I can't believe how much you liked the way I got them married :) I'm so flattered by your reactions! Thank you!_

_I'm really trying to catch up with the PMs, treat each one of you differently :)_

_I hope you like this story too :)_

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

He inhaled sharply, head lolled to the side and a sharp pain in his nape made him release a nasal groan, gritting his teeth. Fluttering his eyes open was out of question, his senses were immersed in a deep dark abyss, the awakening consciousness of his mind too weak to hinder the sense of falling and spiraling.

But he had to get up.

He had to get up.

Moaning loudly, he rolled over on his side, cupping his head with his callous hands as if it was ready to disassemble into a thousand pieces unless he held them together. He vaguely wished she was there, running cool fingers through his temple and stroking his back tenderly, whispering encouraging words in his ears. She wasn't, though.

And that's why he had to fuckin' get up.

Because he didn't even know where she was.

Mustering every remaining shred of strength he had left, he crawled with eyes shut towards the small creek gurgling a few feet behind him, impervious and detached to the hunter's torture.

He had to get up. He had to find her.

Guttural, uncanny sounds escaped his mouth, resembling more to the roar of a lion than the pain of a man, eerie enough to scare away every presence of wild life around him. He wasn't moving fast enough, desperately clutching his fingers through dirt and rocks to haul himself to the water.

He had to get up. He couldn't get up soon enough.

Collapsing face down into the shallow water, he felt the frozen ripples washing away some of the numbness and the dizziness, forcing his senses to catch up with his mind. He pushed himself to flip over and shot his eyes open, fighting back the excruciating pain enveloping his hurt scull, squinting at the daylight but struggling to resist with clenched jaw.

The sun blinded him, but he took it. If he could live through all this time facing her bright smile and her sparkling blue eyes, he could endure some fuckin' sun. This burning sensation of the morning light in his iris was nothing compared to devouring flames of her gaze.

That was the last memory he had from her. Eyes wide from fear she bravely tried to mask, but lips twitching into a reassuring faint smile, ignoring the bleeding slit in the corner of her mouth.

"It's gonna be fine", she had told him, that enchanting voice of hers, with the unique charisma of ringing both firm and soft at the same time, still echoing in his ears.

* * *

It was their fault, mostly his actually. They had let their guard down, always seemed to do that lately, especially when they were alone in the woods, hunting and practicing and making love next to the creek. He used to scold her and frown at her, lecturing her that the walker threat shouldn't be underestimated, that death lurked everywhere, every single moment. She used to nod and apologize, but lose her concentration after a while, too absorbed from his breath-taking presence and his crooked smile. But he could grumble all he wanted; he was equally guilty and he knew it. He was the one to inaugurate the tradition of the two of them disappearing into the forest for hours, he was the one who had first slammed her back against the bunk turning sex outside their cell into one of their favorite habits and, when she got too carried away with all this, he was just as reluctant to put an end to this madness.

Too distracted. Too careless. Too sloppy. Too unwary. Too negligent. Too absent-minded. Because her lips were too fuckin' soft and her breath against his mouth too fuckin' hot and her fingers too fuckin' deft and her god damned body too perfect, fitting his like a glove, every curve matching his like pieces of the same puzzle when she writhed under his greedy lust. And now it was pay off time.

He had turned his back only for a couple of minutes. Squirrels were hanging from a nearby tree and they had taken a moment to relax next to the creek, with Carol resting her head on his shoulder. She told him they should eat something before moving on and had headed towards the backpack with their supplies, left at the tree line, a few feet behind him. Every detail was throbbing crystal clear in his mind. He heard the thumping sound of her weapons dropping on the stones; the backpack unzipping and then a muffled cry that made his heart skip a beat. Jumping up and whirling around with the crossbow loaded and raised in a split second, he was ready to thrust forward to defend her from walkers, but he was riveted by guns pointed to both of them. The sneak attack had caught them off guard and now they were separated, away from each other.

* * *

She hadn't blinked, hadn't stuttered, hadn't shown any sign of weakness, hadn't even cast a peek at the men around them, hadn't shuddered once at the touch of the barrel against her temple or the hand tracing her collarbone as the one-eyed man leaned over her from behind, his lips brushing her ears, whispering incomprehensible words Daryl couldn't discern.

Carol.

Carol was in the Governor's hands.

His Carol.

The Carol he was supposed to protect and keep alive.

Carol in the Governor's hands. Standing composed and brave, without weeping, without begging, listening.

She had never left Daryl's gaze, never gave away anything to disclose what it was the Governor told her. She seemed completely focused on him, consumed by his presence across her, not paying the slightest attention to the men surrounding them, pointing their guns to their heads. She smiled to him.

He had no choice. He was alone, aiming his crossbow at the Governor, but alone. So alone. Martinez pointed his gun to him, Shumpert had his arms spread, a gun aiming at her, another at him. They didn't stand a fighting chance; no way. The Governor was half hiding himself behind her, enough for Daryl not to have a clear shot. If he fired, he would risk killing her instead of him. And even if he made it, even if he managed to catapult an arrow straight through that prick's good eye and lunged at tremendous velocity against Shumpert to knock him down, Martinez would pull the trigger and kill him. That would leave her alone to fight at least one trained soldier, but she was unarmed, both her knife and her gun lying on the ground, several feet away. She could never make it to them before Martinez got her. Unraveling the scene his actions would set in motion in his mind and playing it over and over again, desperately looking for a way to trigger a different outcome, he felt his heart sink. No way could he get her away from there. He was okay with dying, death would be welcome if it meant she got to live, but there was just no way he could make sure of that. All his possible choices would end with both of them dropping dead within seconds. If they actually showed enough mercy to kill her right there. Much worse alternatives were lurking for her.

"Drop it", Shumpert demanded.

"Fuck you", he growled not even glancing at him, his eyes locked with hers.

"Do as he says, baby", her voice was gentle and confident, but he could see she was watching his reactions with bated breath.

Baby. Never had she called him that. Nicknames and sweet words were not very common between them. She had panted "darling" a few times during their passionate intercourses, but never in public; and he would always settle with murmuring her name. If only he could get her away from here and hold her safely in his arms, just once more, just one last time, to make up for all the things he had religiously avoided to say and do, always deferring them for later, stubbornly ignoring the clock ticking against them… then there would be nothing he wouldn't call her; darling, sweetheart, love, baby, sunshine, everything, no matter how strange this words would sound coming from his mouth. But he couldn't. He had wasted every single chance, every single moment he had been granted with her and now their time was up. There was nothing he could do. They were trapped, pinned with their back against the wall.

Baby.

Sighing his defeat and almost bursting into crying from rage, embarrassment and uselessness, he slowly lowered his crossbow and dropped it on the ground, two guns still pointed to him. Martinez knocked him down on his knees. His head would explode every moment now. Shoulders hunched, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring trying to stifle the sobs growing in his chest. He had failed her.

Staring at the man who had thrown him in the arena to fight to death with his own brother, the man who shot his brother in the chest and let him turn into a walker only to be found by him, the man who was now holding his woman, whispering in her ear and tracing her skin with his dirty fingers and all he could do was watch everything helpless. The Governor had beaten him in any possible way; he had ripped away everything that mattered to him, everything he had ever loved, gloating smugly into his face. This was more than a vendetta now; it was a mortal combat, the universe was not large enough for both of them to walk alive in it.

"Better kill me now that you can", he drawled, lethal threat creeping in his voice.

"Well, that would be too easy now, wouldn't it?" the Governor grinned, raising a brow. "Would take all the fun away…" He went on amusingly. "Besides, that would break the deal I made with the lady over here and I gave her my word of honor", he smacked his lips maliciously, before licking her ear. He caught her swallowing hard her disgust.

"Don't you fuckin' touch her", he screamed out of control, snarling and shaking like a caged animal, two barrels facing him, ready to fire.

The Governor rolled his eyes. "You can't protect your own, can't you?" he sneered.

That last sentence shocked him like a punch in the gut. His chest tightened, ragged, uneven breaths escaped his throat and his panicked gaze met her calm one. He saw red, blood boiling in his veins, mind racing, he could swear he felt the wheels inside spining. But her eyes were transfixed on him, silently whispering unspoken messages he couldn't apprehend through his haze. She shook her head imperceptibly, addressing only to him. She was asking him to trust her, that much he could say. Trust what though? Her deal with the Governor? What fuckin' deal could Carol make with the Governor?

"It's okay, baby", her sweet voice felt like an affectionate, soothing caress on his distorted face.

Baby. He knew what she was doing. She was saying goodbye. She was saying she loved him. She was saying no matter what happened next, she belonged to him. And she made sure to distract him enough to force him think twice and not react impulsively, driven by blind rage and panic. Whatever it was the Governor whispered to her, she seemed to have made a choice. And Daryl hated that. He hated that he had no saying in this, he hated that he was sure she'd choose his life over hers, he hated that, no matter what he did, his chances looked better than hers. Most of all, he hated her for asking him to surrender when she knew that possibly this was the last thing she would ever ask from him and there was no way he could refuse her wish, when she knew he loved her too damn much to just abandon her in these repellent arms. If she knew how much… Did she?

Baby. Her eyes and her voice were the only reason he didn't try anything suicidal, the only reason he confined to the rational voice screaming in his head that the tiniest mistake, the tiniest move, would get her killed, the only reason he kept his knees rooted on the spot after the Governor's insult. He couldn't afford such a mistake, not if the repercussions were irreversible and involved her. He had to be smarter, he had to ignore the challenge, he had to buy them some time, he had to keep her alive. Death could not be undone. As long as they were both breathing, there was a chance for them. For the first time in his life, he fisted his fingers, digging his nails so forcefully in his palms they bled and ignored the challenge. Saving her meant he had to stop being a Dixon for a moment; manage to think first, act later.

Baby.

Carol smiled to him as the other man bound her hands behind her back, with an unfathomable expression across her face he miserably failed to decipher.

"It's gonna be fine", the last words before he threw a black hood over her head, depriving him of the sight he cherished the most in this world.

Daryl opened his mouth to yell something at her, to let her know beyond any doubt even at that last moment, but he caught the abrupt movement of a blunt object from the corner of his eye and darkness enveloped everything, accompanied by a piercing pain in the back of his head.

* * *

He knew he should go back to the prison, let the others know, get Rick, Glenn and Tyreese with him, pick up the trail and track them down. But that meant losing valuable time to save her, plus they'd be probably marching into an ambush. The Governor knew Merle was an expert tracker, wouldn't take a logical leap to assume Daryl was too, he knew he'd go after her and he'd be waiting. That's what the asshole expected him to do. He wanted to play a cat-and-mouse game with their lives for… fun.

He didn't need the others, he was better on his own, they would only slow him down. Plus, if they were lured in a trap they would probably all get killed. Daryl alone was stronger. He had grown in the woods, it was his natural place to be, could integrate to the landscape and become invisible like it was nothing, could avoid any ambush and take them out one by one. And get to her. That was all that mattered; he had to get to her in time. Save her. Tell her.

He got up, stumbling and tripping on his feet.

He was sure he had a full-blown concussion, but a blurry vision and a clouded head wouldn't keep him away from her. Saving her meant he had to be a Dixon again, the toughest son of a bitch one could encounter in the middle of the apocalypse.

He picked the trail.

I'm coming, baby.

_To be continued…_

_What do you think?_

_I had huge trouble writing the Governor, what a twisted ***hole!_

_Greatest part of Part II will probably be Carol vs Governor. How do you want to see her stand against him? I have something in mind, but feel free to share your opinion…_

_Aw, Daryl and sweet words are breaking my heart! I have to give him the chance to tell her! Still haven't decided what it will be though! Baby? Darling? Sweetheart? Ugh! So difficult to put something like that in his mouth and still sound believable and realistic!_

_Thank you all for reading :) Reviews are much appreciated!_

6


	12. Sweet Words (Part II)

**Summary:** Carol was in the Governor's hands. His Carol. The Carol he was supposed to protect and keep alive. "Do as he says, baby", her voice was gentle and confident, but he caught her swallowing hard as the tongue of the lunatic behind her licked her ear.

_Hey, everyone!_

_I know I left you with a cliffhanger and it took me a while to update, so I apologize. This was the hardest chapter for me to write, impossible to grasp the Carol/Daryl/Governor confrontation. I did the best I could, I promise :)  
_

_This second part was written in trains, stations, planes and airports, lecture halls, restaurants and a roof garden with breath-taking sea view in my home town :)_

_I hope it lives up to all this._

_I'm completely swamped! I'll try to PM everyone asap :)_

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

_He's coming. Surely he's coming for me._

_He loves me._

_I just have to hold on until he's here._

_He's coming._

It was cold in there. She was shivering, her teeth chattered violently with a gnashing sound that echoed deafeningly inside her head, clouding her thoughts.

And she was hurt. They had dragged her blindfolded through the woods, left her tripping on her feet and landing hard on the ground more times than she could count. Jumping to the conclusion that she was slowing them down on purpose –which she did- Martinez and Shumpert had kicked her on the ribs until the Governor lashed out at them reminding them who she belonged to; _him_. At the sound of this word, Carol shuddered in disgust and blinked the stinging tears away, pleased that her fear and grief were invisible to them under the hood, and repeated to herself that she indeed belonged to _him_, she would belong to _him_ as long as her heart was beating and she would continue to belong to _him_ in the afterlife. To _him_ only. To Daryl.

If only she could hug her knees and tug them under her chin to become a little ball… But she couldn't; her arms were half spread and the shackles that kept her chained against the wall didn't really permit plenty of leeway. And it didn't matter that much, anyway. The Governor had turned her face into a piece of art; she knew her right eye was grotesquely swollen, for she was practically blind from that side; her cheekbones were on fire and she could feel a huge bump popping out in her forehead; the metal taste of blood flowing from her lips nauseated her, but as far as she could tell, she hadn't lost any teeth. She was so battered and bruised, she couldn't help think that Ed would laugh his ass off had he been there to see how well getting rid of him had served her in retrospect.

Ed could keep burning in the cauldrons of hell, though. This time she had brought it on herself. When the Governor entered in the room Martinez had cuffed her in with a lewd and lascivious darkness in his eyes, she steeled herself and decided she would try tooth and nail not to get raped. She knew that the moment he raped her, he would be done with her, probably kill her right after. She needed more time. _He_ needed more time to get to her.

And she had succeeded. She was still alive, Daryl was still alive and she could go to her happy place. She swore she could really hear the creek gurgling as she splashed her feet in the freezing water, leaning against him, his muscled arms wrapped protectively around her, his lips brushing hers. Yep, happy place.

* * *

_Earlier_

It seemed forever since Martinez had left her alone in the room. Eventually, he walked in slowly and towered complacently over her.

"Bring it on", he challenged her.

She mustered her courage together, swallowing hard. She had to play smart. Smart. She examined his face carefully, narrowing her eyes, but otherwise remained silent.

"The hero speech", he elaborated wickedly. "That you're not afraid of me, blah blah blah."

Carol chuckled bitterly, picking herself off the floor, eyeing him evenly. "But I AM afraid of you. You are batshit crazy, of course I'm afraid. It wouldn't make sense if I wasn't."

The Governor didn't even blink. "No reason to be rude, now", he drawled. "I only do what I have to do."

"You destroy lives for fun", she growled, lessening the distance between them.

He shrugged, a malicious smile spread across his face. "I don't see the difference."

Carol winced in disgust. Calling him sick wouldn't even cover the tip of the iceberg for his case. She shouldn't flinch at the heinous sight of his raw madness. She had to be brave, for _him_.

"And you can be absolutely certain I'll do what I have to do, too", she stretched her back a little more upright, a grim determination tensing her features.

"This is nothing personal; consider yourself a collateral damage. It's your man's fault, really, and you leader's, Rick. If they had handed me Michonne, none of this would happen to you."

"You're lying", she said calmly. "And we would defend Michonne with our lives, anyway."

His hand jerked, grabbed her from the neck and pinned her against the wall, colliding his body with hers. "That woman took my eye. Killed. My. Daughter." He furiously barked at her.

Not a nerve twitched in her face, although she felt she was suffocating. There it was, plain as daylight, his weak spot. Carol knew she had his full attention now. For better or worse.

"You daughter was dead long before Michonne found her. She was a walker. She was dead the moment she got bit", she stood her ground sternly.

"We were working on a cure! Penny would have been just fine!" The Governor was shaking out of control now, rage radiating off him.

"Penny was long gone", she said flatly.

"You shut your dirty mouth", he hissed, spitting saliva all over her face. "You don't get to talk about my daughter."

His hot breath made her sick, numbing her senses. But she had to fight against it, she had to remain strong. "I lost my daughter from _them_ too. I never blamed the man who had the courage to put her out of her misery", she retorted.

His eyes narrowed. "You had a daughter?"

Carol nodded. "She was twelve." She instantly knew she had made the wrong move. The goal was to infuriate him, not provide him a reason to relate with her; but she had gotten carried away by Sophia's memory.

The Governor's expression changed, his tensed features softened significantly, the sultry grimace was restored. He released her from his grip, taking half a step back. "We have a lot in common you and me."

"No, we don't", she snarled, approaching him once again. Inhaling deeply, she locked eyes with him, dead serious and calm at the same time. "My Sophia will be happy when we meet again. Penny will wish she had never been your seed in the first place, for everything you did and disgraced her memory."

A fist landed in her face with a ferocity that thrust her violently backwards, banging her head hard against the concrete of the wall and strong hands grasped her from the shoulders only to inflict more pain to her, before she collapsed on the floor.

The thrashing went on until the Governor was out of breath. He swayed a little, reeling unsteadily on his feet, panting.

The daylight, sneaking in the empty room that had now turned into her personal torture chamber from the small window in the conjunction between the wall and the ceiling, got fainter. The sky had clouded over. The atmosphere smelt rain.

"Storm is coming. Your man will get wet."

He stretched his fingers and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Carol was sprawled on the floor, bloody and battered, spitting blood and feeling her body completely stiff and sluggish. Her eyes couldn't focus and everything spun. A triumphant grin cracked in her split lips, causing her to wince in pain; she was incredibly pleased with herself. She had bought _him_ time. She had bought them time. She was still alive.

* * *

_That morning_

Carol was petrified when somebody grabbed her from behind. At first she thought it was a walker, but when she felt the cold, unyielding metal against her head, she knew the threat was even bigger. She had never taken a close look to him; sure she was hidden in the tombs when he and his men attacked the prison, but in the ensued havoc, all she caught was a retreating figure, at best. Nevertheless, she instantly understood who they were dealing with; not many threats in the world could invoke this expression in Daryl's face. The tiniest doubt she might have about the identity of their attacker vanished when hot breath burnt her ear, whispering the most perverted threat she had ever heard.

"Look at him. Take a good, long look at him. You try anything, you cry, you tell him to help you, you look scared and I won't just kill him. I will tie him to that tree and make him watch… us. Then I will break both his legs and his arms and untie him and make him watch again trying to crawl his way to you like a worm."

Daryl was over there, crossbow raised, panting, stubbornly refusing to realize that they were cornered. He looked sick, like he was going to puke his gut out, and pale. If only she hadn't dropped her weapons that far away… they may had a fighting chance. But the sight of him standing all alone in the middle of this commotion was totally unnerving. She had to focus on him, though. Keep him alive at any cost. Her life meant nothing when his was at stake.

"And no matter how long he watches, it will go on until he loses his mind. We are three men with needs here; we can take all the time of the world with you", the loathsome hissing against her temple persisted. "And do you wanna know how this ends? You'll take his place against a tree and I'll lie back and watch you both being walker baits. You'll watch each other suffer and die and you'll be no more than a few feet away, but no matter how hard you try, you won't touch each other again. I'll let him get bit and turn and he won't be able to run away from you or kill himself. I'll make him eat you alive. It's gonna be fun, isn't it?"

She was screaming inside; crying violently, choking in her own sobs, shaking from pure terror that crept inside her veins, whispering his name, pleading him to save himself_. I'll let him get bit and turn and he won't be able to run away from you or kill himself. I'll make him eat you alive._ In the inside. Because from the outside, Carol was expressionless and coolheaded, seemingly dead calm and in control of the situation, lips twitching upwards lightly to offer him reassurance and consolation.

"Do as he says, baby", she heard her own voice, barely recognizing it by how serene and composed she sounded.

Baby. She wanted to call him that since forever, but always restrained herself fearing she'd scare him away. Now she could only hope that he'd decipher the conveyed message. His hurt look broke her heart. She was killing him asking him to surrender like that, but she did it for him. To buy him some time to clear his head, to stop and think twice before a bullet was planted in him.

He dropped his crossbow, defeated.

"Or vice versa. Depends on the mood of the moment. But that's how it ends for you if you do as much as wince or sniffle. Be a good girl and he gets to live. For now. You play along, you obey and follow us, I'll take you in a nice cozy cabin in the woods with us and spend some quality time waiting for him to come and get you." Despite the twisted menace, Carol had managed to somehow tune him out, lost in the blue eyes that stared at hers. "That'd be so much fun. So don't do anything hasty here. Think very carefully what you want it to be, 'cause once you chose, there's no going back. Look at him and chose. You want him alive? Or you want him crippled on the ground watching you scream?" No. Never the last one.

Ugh. The wet tongue against her skin brought her back to reality. Her stomach jolted and she swallowed hard, failing to keep it from Daryl.

Daryl's head snapped, his entire body jerked, ready to lunge forward. The Governor told him he couldn't protect his own.

But she kept smiling to him, demanding his attention and unwaveringly holding his gaze, taking in his marvelous beauty in case she never had a chance to meet him again; shaking her head confidently to make him drop the challenge just this once, slow down and think, just think, grant them a chance to survive and reunite. Everything for that small chance.

The bastard behind her didn't matter. The price she'd have to pay didn't matter. All that mattered was to keep this pair of intractable blue eyes sparkling and vivid.

"It's okay, baby."

* * *

When he came back, hours later, the sun had already set. Sitting across the room with legs crossed, he examined her meticulously. Carol tried to control her shivering and her ragged breaths. She was battered, maybe even defeated, but she wasn't broken. The Governor would never get a full-fledged victory lap to her detriment as long as she was alive.

Dead silence had consumed everything, like a deep breath before the plunge; even the creatures lurking in the woods seemed to hold their breath in anticipation of the impending clash. A lightning bolt split the night sky and, after a moment of profound contemplation in which their eyes met like crossing swords, Carol felt a lump blocking her throat at his wreathed in flames gaze. She held it evenly, though, and then the thunderstorm erupted; violent, ruthless, diluvial, purging.

"Nice round earlier", he stated in all seriousness. "You managed to get into my head, mind-fucked me pretty well. Bought yourself time, stall the repercussions. I respect how you played the hand you've been dealt with. I may even admire it. But your time is up now. And your man is nowhere around", he paused for a second, shrugging. "Maybe we both overestimated how much he cared about what happens to you. Maybe he's soundly sleeping in his bed right now, not giving a shit about you. But don't worry; I'll make you feel really special. You'll get my abiding, unremitting attention", he smacked his lips.

Carol scoffed, trying to conceal her fear. There was no escaping this time. And Daryl wasn't there yet. Had he truly abandoned her? No way, no, he would never leave her; he had to know for sure that she would fight with everything she had in her to stay alive until he found her. Daryl would never abandon her, would he?

"Any last wishes?" He started closing the distance between them.

She raised an eyebrow, ignoring how painful this move was for her distorted features, and stared him with contempt through her blurry left eye. Gathering all the courage she had left inside her, she managed to drag herself off the floor with great effort and face him once again.

"Better mind your own. Your clock is ticking", she sneered.

"I thought you were afraid", he giggled with genuine amusement, unbuckling his belt.

Carol eyed him solemnly. "Not for me. I couldn't care less for what happens to me."

"Aww, you worry about him. Ain't that sweet? He's not here, though, is he?" his voice echoed her worst nightmare. Daryl wasn't here.

"I'll do my best to make this as hard and unpleasant to you as possible, even painful if it's in my hand. When he finds me, I'll make sure he knows I fought like hell for a chance to see him again. I promise you this much", she hissed between gritted teeth.

"You'll only make it more painful for you", he bent over her.

"You can't hurt me. I'm not yours to hurt." She would show no fear, no weakness, she would take everything and die without giving him the slightest pleasure.

"Soon enough you'll be begging for a quick death", his tongue wandering purposely at her neck.

"Never. He deserves better than that." For Daryl.

They heard it at the same time. A thump and the dull sound of something being dragged. And then nothing; only the pouring rain whipping the ceiling above them, breaking the otherwise dead silence.

Clogging gait echoed from the hallway, muffled sounds, then nothing again. _He_ was there. Carol gasped, her chest clenched with fear. Not caring about her life was one thing, but Daryl's life was an entirely different story. The Governor smiled broadly, fun had joined his twisted party. He pitched her chin, spun around and got out of the room.

A cry escaped her lips as the door slammed opened less than a split second later, Daryl and the Governor both landing on the floor, clasped together in a melee to the bitter end.

The Governor groaned and struggled to retaliate the blows, but nothing could resist Daryl's blind frenzy; his eyes were dark, deprived of every feeling, a murderous flicker inside them, focused on the man beneath him the way a predator stalks his prey. His fury was the one of an unleashed force of nature, a real tsunami; unstoppable, devastating, overwhelming, invincible, incapable of being subdued.

Pinning him flat on his back under a steel grip, he unstrapped the flick knife Carol recognized as hers and springing out the retractable blade, he slowly lowered the tip until it was less than an inch from the Governor's good eye.

"This is for Maggie and Glenn; and Michonne; and Andrea. This is for my brother; and me; and her. 'Cause you didn't know any better than to lay your hands on her", he emphatically drawled each syllable of the last sentence. A bloodcurdling shrill was released from the Governor and Carol, crumpled up in the corner, watched his eyeball dangling from its socket.

The Governor was groveling on the concrete floor helpless, defeated, resembling a cold-blooded reptile deprived of its venom. He couldn't hurt them anymore. Still growling like a raging beast, but blind, powerless and defenseless, the vacant vessel of the man who had mercilessly rampaged their lives.

Daryl dropped the knife and glanced at her for the first time since they had burst into the room. She wasn't sure he recognized her.

"Daryl…"

He jumped up immediately, blinking at the sound of her voice calling him, unhooked the keys of her shackles from the belt of the whimpering, blind figure that used to be the Governor and rushed next to her. Uncuffing her, he examined carefully her bleeding wrists, shaking his head.

She cupped his face to make him look at her. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Nothing happened", she said loudly littering his face with kisses.

He met her gaze, but didn't seem to register her words, shocked by her injuries. "What the fuck did you do to her?" Daryl yanked away from her and grabbed the Governor from the collar, punching him again and again.

"Daryl!"

He didn't respond, and stopped his beating spree only when he realized that the half dead man was laughing.

"You can't kill me", he mumbled triumphantly through broken teeth. "I live in your head, you can't kill me."

Daryl dropped him on the floor. "I won't kill you. I'll take you with me, torture you for weeks or months or years before feeding you to the walkers", he stated plainly, a blank expression in his eyes.

"Daryl!" His head turned to her again, observing her stretched out arms. He kneeled in front of her and Carol cupped his face again.

"Daryl, please... Let's forget everything about him. This is the biggest punishment for him and his messiah complex. As long as you torture him, you'll just give him power. He lives on scrounging our lives. Don't let him worm into your mind, don't let him tear us apart. Oblivion is the only true torment for him, the only true death."

"You will never forget!", the Governor yelled hysterically."Never! I'll haunt you forever! Every time you think of your brother, you'll know I'm the one that took him from you."

Daryl tried to turn his head to him, but Carol maintained her grip, forcing him to hold her gaze.

"Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them. Merle will never truly die for he'll never be forgotten; he'll live in our hearts forever. I promise you, baby", she was pleading passionately now, desperate to drag Daryl back to sanity. The cuts in her lips, cracked opened and bled all over again, the pain in her bruised face was excruciating, tears rolled down her cheeks, violent sobs pierced her chest. "Only Merle could kill Merle! He died when he decided he had something in his life worth dying for. Let's get rid of this asshole for good. Let's kill him and forget about him and he'll be dead for ever. This is the utter pain you can inflict to him."

"You can't kill me. I live in your head!" the Governor giggled.

Daryl was staring at her with an unfathomable expression in his eyes, but this time he ignored the other man completely.

"Listen to his fear, Daryl. The only thing that scares him is oblivion. He's not afraid of tortures, he knows that as long as you keep him alive, he wins; he knows if you keep him alive too long, he will poison your soul and haunt you forever. Don't do him this favor. Choose us. Choose our life together. We have lost too much and still so much to live for. Let's just forget him, baby. Let's kill him right here, right now and go back to our family."

"Shut up, bitch!"

Daryl curled his fingers around her wrists and sighed.

"Listen to him! He's only afraid of being forgotten, nothing else scares him. You let him loot your soul and he wins no matter what. Please, baby, choose us! Choose to give us a life! He's nothing , Daryl!"

He nodded. "Sshh… Calm down, you're hurting yourself", he whispered to her, stroking her face as gently as he could. "Let's forget about him." Warmth was spreading in his eyes again, washing away the coldness.

Daryl stood up slowly, tugging her close to him to support her. When he was sure she could stand on her own, he took a step closer to the Governor, who was still screaming that no one could beat him and that he would haunt them forever, and buried his knife in his skull.

Their worst nightmare was over; his dead body slack on the ground.

Daryl didn't hesitate this time; he turned his back on his and walked away. It was over.

"You're freezing", he rasped, rubbing her hands in his, but she pulled them away and threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him.

"Baby…"

Daryl remained still only for a second before reciprocating the embrace, burying his face in her neck and snuggling her on him.

* * *

_To be continued…_

_What do you think?_

_This is not a cliffhanger, but it's not over either! The Governor part just finished, but I still owe you the fluff part :)_

_I'll update soon, I promise! _

_Thank you all for reading :) A review would make me more than happy!_

**Peta2****:** The mutilation is saved for my other story ;)

9


	13. Sweet Words (Epilogue)

**Summary:** Carol was in the Governor's hands. His Carol. The Carol he was supposed to protect and keep alive. "Do as he says, baby", her voice was gentle and confident, but he caught her swallowing hard as the tongue of the lunatic behind her licked her ear.

_Hey, everyone!_

_You sooo didn't like the last chapter :) Almost everyone wanted the fluff asap! Haha!_

_There you go, then!_

_Loooooooong and shamelessfluff :)_

_I'm always grateful for all the kindness :)_

_**I have to tell you all, with no intention of flattery, that this series of short stories/drabbles or whatever it is (yep, I've lost control of my own material :)), would have never taken this form without all this amazing feedback I get from you. If it is any good, it is because your kind words are the ultimate motivation for me to try hard and do my best, thus we all share the credits. If it is not, the responsibility lies strictly with me.**_

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

The building had three rooms in total. The first was the empty room she was kept as captive, the second was one equally plain except from the two cots and a couple of chairs randomly spread in the available space. But when Daryl kicked open the third and last door in the row, carrying Carol in his arms, he faced a well organized, comfortable bedroom with a double bed in the middle of it, a couch, a bureau and an ostensibly functional sink, immersed in the cozy, yellow light radiating off an oil lamp.

"I'm perfectly capable to walk on my own", she murmured grumpily in his neck, but was enjoying the strong embrace around her only too much for any real protest.

She knew it was due to her violent shivering and the atrocious sight of her face that he treated her like that. If only she could somehow control her chattering teeth to steady her voice and reassure him more convincingly… It was just that from the moment the Governor slumped dead on the floor and she sobbed her relief and happiness to be reunited with him, once again, against all odds, in his chest, the adrenaline throbbing in her veins that had kept her alert all day long started to ebb off and the terrible pain from her wounds and bruises progressively crept in.

Without an answer, Daryl placed her on the couch and started rummaging the drawers, mussing up the contents until he ferreted a clean rag. Moving quickly to the sink, he soaked it under the running water of the tap. He wasn't a virgin when it came down to fights and beatings, he knew the kind of slits and swells that covered her face could make a grown man whine like a baby. It was infuriating how stoically she took it, pursuing her lips and stubbornly refusing to cry.

He started cleaning her injuries as gently as his rough, callous hands allowed him and she exhaled deeply, taking in the exhilarating feeling of the cool cloth and warm touch against her inflamed face.

"Quite a shiner you got there", he stated flatly.

"Well, I stumbled into a psycho in the woods…"she tried to joke, but it didn't reach him.

"We have to get you to Hershel first thing in the morning; can't say how serious this is."

She was searching for his eyes through her blurry one; he was still avoiding her gaze.

"And warm you up a bit. I don't know why you're freezing like this, it's not really cold in here", he shook his head and rubbed her arms almost brutally.

Carol decided to test the waters. "What about a reunion kiss? That would help me warm up", she tried, caressing his arm.

His head snapped. "You look like shit", he scolded her, harsher than he meant to.

Her hand dropped in her lap and she bowed her head so that he wouldn't have a clear view in her face. Of course, he was repelled by her.

Daryl hated himself. That was not what he wanted to tell her all day long. Not at all! "That's not what I meant… It's just…", he collected her hand in his, tilting her chin to finally cross eyes with her. "There's not an inch intact in your face. I don't wanna hurt you."

Carol shrugged. "I don't mind."

"I do", he confessed, kissing her knuckles.

"No kissing then…" she conformed reluctantly. "For how long?"

"We'll see. I kiss you now and your lips will crack open."

"Or… or you could maybe kiss the pain away", she shrugged again, blushing. Dear God, when did she become so bold?

Daryl chuckled despite himself. "You never stop, do you?"

"You want me to?" she asked, fear twisting her voice.

"No. Never." Just… fuckin' never.

A broad smile lightened up her face and fresh blood spurted from a slit.

"Don't do this, Carol", he scowled, grabbing the rag again and pressing it on her lips. "You're hurting yourself again."

She tried to frown back at him. "What? No smiling either? You need to take a step back, mister. Preferably on the kissing thing", amusement lingering on her voice.

Daryl sighed and cupped her face; to hell with that, all he wanted to do since the moment he saw her was to kiss her until he had her writhing in his arms, gasping for air. Her heart was racing; this was an easy victory she never saw coming.

"Don't you dare move or I'm not kissing you again for a month", he growled menacingly, but the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

He closed the distance between them, brushing his lips against hers, more tickling than actually kissing her, but enough to spark a quivering in her lower belly. But it only lasted for a moment before he drew back and examined her carefully, making sure he hadn't inflicted more pain. The moment his burning breath left her mouth, she felt coldness enveloping her again and her previous shivering was back.

"Better now?" he rasped, barely restraining himself from lunging at her, his own hands shaking.

She nodded. "Are you okay?"

They were both so awkwardly focused on how to control their urges, they had trouble breathing.

"Shit, Carol, will you stop shivering?"

"I thought I'd never see you again. I was so scared…" she admitted, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I know, I know. I was scared too", he replied, voice thick with emotion. "You have to stop doing this to me."

They stared at each other for a long moment, sharing their familiar, comfortable, meaningful silence.

"We need to rest", Daryl said finally, standing up and offering her his hand. "It's almost a six hour walk back to the prison. You won't make it if you don't get some sleep."

She complied easily, exhaustion already clouding her mind. Startled by her shaking knees, she was relieved when she felt a strong arm wrapping around her waist, guiding her steadily.

The feeling of the soft mattress beneath them was incredible; they hadn't slept in anything similar to that for what seemed like an eternity.

"Wanna join me for a run next week?" he asked.

"Yes, please!" she exclaimed. Out of prison invitations that didn't include the woods were more than rare coming from Daryl. "But… why?"

"We need a bed like this one for our cell. Those fuckin' bunks are killing us", he turned to meet an excited face.

She shuffled closer to settle in her familiar sleeping position, snuggling against him and resting her head on his chest, but when her bruised cheekbone came in touch with his torso, she groaned in pain and rolled over on her back.

Daryl didn't comment, just sighed and run his hand on his face. It was killing him that he couldn't take the pain from her and suffer it himself. "Shit." He propped himself up and turned on his side, wiping away stray tears that escaped her painfully grimaced face.

"I'm sorry", she mumbled, stifling sobs.

"You can cry all you want, you know", he locked eyes with her, but she didn't give up fighting back the lump.

She wouldn't cry, period. Nothing to cry over. They were both alive and they were together. This was a triumph. A little pain wasn't something worth crying about. She gritted her teeth stubbornly; she wasn't going to be a meek, pathetic woman, no way, not with this terrified expression spread across his face.

Witnessing her fight tooth and nail to remain composed and brave, Daryl felt more than proud of her. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, sneaking an arm under her nape and tugging her closer. "Come here, we're switching places tonight."

Carol just mumbled something incomprehensible, still fighting back tears. Her fingers curled around his wrist savoring the soothing sense of his hand stroking up and down the length of her neck.

"Thank you, baby. Don't worry", she whispered, forcing a weak, reassuring smile.

He swallowed hard and Carol caught it.

"You mind? If I call you baby?"

"No", he rasped faintly, but firmly.

Daryl wanted to try. At least try. All these never-ending hours he spent in the agonizing anticipation of meeting her again, not knowing if what he hustled to would be Carol's soft blue eyes or the milky dead of her walker shell, had drained him of any selfish resistance. The walls he had preserved with gritted teeth and adamant persistence, even against his better judgment and definitely against his will, were now completely knocked down, for tomorrow may never come when the dead are walking on earth. He would sure as hell try and if she laughed at him, he would willingly join her. Getting something so out of character right with the first attempt was too ambitious but it didn't matter, he was determined to try and cope with humiliation. If only he had inherited Merle's way with the ladies…

Baby was out question; this was hers. Damn woman had staked her claim in the most easily articulated choice. Darling was too much. He felt it beyond any doubt, but he would never be able to say it without having a heart attack or a stroke or spontaneously combust or all these three together. Love? Naw… He had already confessed he loved her; the word was too special for him to be reiterated out of this context. Doll was a safe, relatively effortless choice, but it sounded… incomplete; as if it failed to mirror the depth of his feelings for her. Woman was out of question; too Dixon style, Merle's favorite. Shit. He knew perfectly well that nothing was wrong with any of these words and Carol would be more than competent to extract the right interpretation even if he called her a goldfish.

It was him. It was him and his emotional hurdles that hindered his ability to express himself. All these words were new to him; he had never called anyone anything like this in his life, had never even thought about it. And Carol was each one of this; hell, she was more than all of them combined and that only tied his stomach in knots and twisted his tongue even worse. He needed something he had already used in the past to cheat himself with the false sense of a lifejacket around him. It didn't matter that he was making a mountain out of a molehill; given how awkward and awfully inexperienced he was, he still needed to feel safe. And there was only one word the sound of which rang familiar coming from him; he felt gratitude for Lil' Ass Kicker for smoothing some of his rough edges before Carol took over.

"Are you in pain, sw… sweetheart?" his voice was husky. Nope. That sounded completely wrong. That was Judith's. Carol deserved her own.

She eyed him incredulously from the corner of her good eye, taken aback. She wasn't sure how deliberate this word was and didn't want him to feel embarrassed in case it was just blurted out of nowhere. "Oh, damn, don't tell me you're so badly banged you're mixing me up with Judith all this time?" Plus, she didn't want to admit in how much pain she was; she knew it would be like stabbing him in the heart, especially if she let the tears she withheld roll down freely.

"Shut it, Carol." Damn, he had ruined it. That's not how he meant it to be. This was… wrong.

"What? She's the only one you call sweetheart", her confusion was sincere. Sure she had been calling him baby all day long, but for him to return the endearment was something that never crossed her mind.

"Pretending you're jealous of Judith; nice try to change the subject", he dismissed her. "Are you in pain?" he reiterated, tracing her black eye with his fingertips.

She nodded, trying to ignore the lump in her throat. Of course it wouldn't work. Tricking Daryl Dixon would require the hell more of an effort.

It took him everything he had not to burst into crying like a broken child next to her. Her face was a mess, the pain was surely excruciating. Hot breath burnt her mouth and her lips parted as he brushed his lightly above her mouth, his wet tongue licking the stinging slits. A new moan escaped her, but this one was from pleasure; and arousal. The pain was much better once again. She could swear her mind would be distracted even from an open bullet hole in her chest as long as his lips lingered on hers.

Daryl examined her distorted face. This was his woman, the woman he loved. And less than an hour ago the Governor had his hands on her. He couldn't bear it, the fact that he hadn't stopped this, that he wasn't there in time to protect her. "Did he…" his voice wavered.

She expected the question. "No, baby, he just beat me… I swear", cool fingers cupped his face.

"Son of a bitch got you pretty whacked", he clenched his jaw, his eyes locked with hers, hand still stroking her neck.

"I brought it on myself. Challenged him… Tryi… Trying to buy some time… for you to get here. I knew you were coming for me."

Yeah, this was his woman. Delicate and fragile and tough as a rock at the same time. "I didn't come soon enough."

"You did, nothing irreversible happened", her arm snaked around his neck, struggling to drag him closer, but he resisted this time.

Daryl frowned, forever fighting with the inner voice screaming in his head what a worthless piece of shit he was. "It's just like he said. I can't protect my own."

"You let him get inside your head like it's nothing, but you refuse to see yourself the way I see you", she sighed."You always protect me. Look at me."

He did, but all he saw was the woman he loved almost battered to death. "I do", his chin tremble, eyes welling up with tears.

"Don't look at the bruises and the cuts, Daryl. Look at _me_. I'm alive. You saved me again. You always do. You're my hero…" she stated plainly, but with stern confidence.

"Ain't no hero…" he sulked, but her words and her adoring smile had already worked miracles to ease his internal turmoil.

"Sure you are", Carol beamed. "A knight… My personal knight, swinging his crossbow, in his shining armor of dirt and blood. I don't know why I've been calling you baby all day long. I should stick to hero. You're my hero", she nudged him teasingly.

He felt his face growing tomato red. "At least you stopped that creepy shivering of yours; you're warmer now."

"See? Hero… Get used to that", she smiled again, fighting back a yawn.

Her non-negotiable, unfaltering faith in him was more than a comfort. It was his ultimate motivation to keep fighting his dark side, to follow the light, for in the light he would find her, ready to gratefully share her last breath with him. He wondered if she knew that he would sacrifice his life for her without blinking and opened his mouth to say something, but she caught him.

"Do I get to be called sweetheart again?"

He shook his head, "No."

Her lips twitched downwards but she tried to mask it; he didn't miss it, though.

"I bet you don't wanna share… even with Judith."

"I don't mind that much", she shrugged. "Between sharing and nothing…"

He stroked her face again, his thumb petting lightly the slits on her lips. Why couldn't he say something? Finally, she smirked, dropping the uncomfortable subject.

"It's ok, I don't mind. As long as you say my name…"

She shuffled a little closer, wrapped tightly in his arms. It was true, she didn't mind. Deep down, she knew. She knew because his nose was brushing her cheek now and she was happy and perfectly content.

"Goodnight, Daryl", she murmured groggily, dozing off almost immediately.

Her resignation broke his heart. He'd rather have her smack his face than give up on any kind of reciprocal endearment from him. She deserved everything and everything was only the surface of what he felt for her. She would be petrified if she scratched this upper layer and took at look of the feelings hidden beneath.

"Rose", he whispered in her ear, before sleep consumed her entirely.

"Hmm?"

"You're my rose."

Her eyes shot open and she lolled her head to meet his gaze. "I am?"

He nodded, his crooked smile brightening up his face. It wasn't that difficult. Especially if he ignored the flames in his face, even the top of his ears felt like burning up; his blush must have resembled to a third degree burn, but the relative darkness of the lamp's dim light was his ally; he could do this. It was easy. Just a word. A word so true that made his stomach jolt. And the impact it had on her was invigorating to watch. She was beaming through her squinty eye.

"Don't pretend you don't already know", he chuckled, pecking her nose.

"Nice to hear… But I'm so gonna tell Glenn on you!" she teased.

Daryl snorted. "You tell that smartass I called you my rose, I'll kick your skinny ass. I have an image to live up to."

She giggled wholeheartedly this time, reciprocating his kisses and ignoring his spontaneous glare when she did so.

"And I guess I won't be hearing this rose thing again anytime soon, right?"

"Right."

"But I will eventually, right?"

"Right. Sooner than eventually", he reassured her.

"Ok", she smiled pleased.

Daryl inhaled deeply. What the hell, since he had already embarrassed himself, he could go all the way through with it.

"But if you call me baby all the time, it's only fair to come up with something for you too."

Carol couldn't believe her luck tonight, she felt like she had just won the lottery; she was dumbfounded.

"What do you want it to be?" Daryl dared to ask, only to feel his chest tightened with fear. What would he do if she asked something crazy, like princess? Or even darling? How would he walk around in the prison calling her that? He wouldn't do that and then she'd get mad. Shit, that was the biggest mistake he'd ever made and…

"Woman", she interrupted his panicked train of thought. "Yes, woman", she repeated firmly, turning to face him. "That's the only one a Dixon would use effortlessly."

He nodded, deeply moved by how well she knew him, how easily she could see through him and how deeply she accepted who he was. He rested his head next to hers, holding her tightly. His woman.

"Goodnight, baby."

"Goodnight, woman…uh… rose… Whatever!" He grunted, kissing her temple as she muffled a laugh. "Just goodnight."

_The End :)_

* * *

_Crazy writer squeals alone! Happening now..._

_As you just read, I tried to use EVERYTHING that was on table! Literally! I was laughing alone when Carol just jumped in gracefully and gave the "woman" solution!_

_Give us some Caryl on the show! We are getting crazy with these fics!_

_**SOA loving mom**__: I kept telling myself that the rose thing is too much… Out of question! Then I couldn't resist, anyway! :) I just loved it!_

_**carolinereynolds**__: This story wouldn't have been the same if you hadn't remind me that Daryl called Judith sweetheart. Thank you!_

_**Haitus80**__: I would give sooo much to watch Daryl call Sophia ***hole and believe he's just being tender! Like you have no idea how much! So freaking Daryl! :)_

_**Pat83**__: I just love you. My rationale behind everything is that I consider nothing impossible for a character in principle. They can do and say everything under certain circumstances. I just try to create the proper setting for the words to ring true in their mouths. For me it's rather a matter of circumstances than of characters :) (And yes, you found it again)_

_**MCLoveProductions**__: Yep, I'll hide under your bed anytime! :)_

_**collective2220**__: Marry me?_

_PMs on the way :)_

_Thank you all for reading :) A review would mean the world to me!_

9


	14. Never a lip

_Hey, everyone!_

_Another chapter written in stations, trains, airports, planes blah blah blah :) It was the way back this time!_

_Hopefully, most of you have already found a PM full of gratitude in your inbox. And there are more to come!_

_Seriously, thank you all again :)_

_This chapter is particularly dear to me… I hope you like it too! _

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"Only one," she insisted pleadingly, lips pressed in a firm line, blue eyes wide.

Daryl snorted and shook his head derisively, his narrowed eyes darting outside the living room window, restless, meticulously exploring their surroundings for lurking threats; herds sprouted up out of nowhere lately, active and gory, let alone the uncharted territory random encounters with other survivor groups constituted.

It was the very first time they were on a run alone since he had returned in prison with Merle on his tail. He didn't want to take her with him. Whatever it was that activated them, walkers seemed more dangerous than ever. She was safer, no, safe behind the solid walls of the prison. And that's exactly where he wanted her to be. He had this strange feeling of his heart beating more steadily when she was inside the fence. That's why he was no less stunned than everyone else when he heard a rasped voice he recognized as his own asking her if she wanted to join him. Her mouth had dropped open at the sound of her name and the only reaction she managed to force was a quick nod.

He had stubbornly clenched his jaw to avoid admitting it, but it was true he hated how things were between them. Something was broken and, although he initially thought things would finally get back to normal, reality had proven him wrong. Carol had kept her distance, withdrawing in her shell, broadening the gap between them day by day, always kind and friendly but closed off at the same time. Only with him, she was perfectly herself with everyone else. Watch duties where longer without her company, lunch breaks boring and lonely, his cell colder during the nights without their hushed conversations, sleep had started evading him. He was grumpier and more peevish than usual, throwing uncalled for tempers at whoever picked the wrong moment to pass him by. He kept telling himself he didn't owe her any apologies, he had come back and that should have been enough, but at that point he was just wondering if the mere repetition wasn't enough for either of them to be convinced.

Deep down he knew he had screwed things, but he would never admit anything. Their relationship had always been complicated. Natural but complicated. Flirty friendship, Glenn had called it once and despite his scorn –Dixons didn't do flirting- something in that rang true. Thing was, while they were on the run he had no time for such a luxury as to contemplate on his relationship with the others and he specifically avoided any thoughts about her like hell. Day to day survival, and her survival, demanded his full attention and he had managed to shut every distracting thought out and keep them, and her, alive. That was until they found the prison and they had both a minimum sense of security and some free time, when he started suspecting that her taunting might not be just a joke and that the knot in the stomach he had been carrying around for a while when she was close wasn't just hunger and fear for walkers. He was shocked when it dawned on him that he always thought about her separately; in his mind, it was never the group. It was Carol and the group. Carol and the group had to survive, Carol and the group had to be fed, Carol and the group needed a shelter. Carol and then everyone else. Carol first.

When she got lost and was presumed dead, he was slapped in the face, something inside him shattered in a million pieces. Sure he kept putting one foot in front of the other, surviving, making calls, taking over Rick's role since their leader seemed completely off, but it was like he had the autopilot on. Everything was registered through a haze, like someone else possessed his body and it kept moving despite his will. All he wanted was to scream at the world and knock down a wall and then crumple up on the corner and sob in grief, rocking back and forth. But he had remained calm. This lasted two days before his ostensible strength and self composure started quivering and he had finally snapped in the tombs, having the closest thing he had ever experienced to a breakdown, holding on to her knife. And then his luck sky rocketed and he found her alive… But it was in the moments before that that he had made a decision; he didn't like what he felt about her; he hated the power she had over him; if he was granted a second chance to have her alive, all breathing and smiling, around them, he would never let himself get so addicted to her warm presence again. And right after that, he found her. And the deal was sealed. Keep her alive, keep your distance. Plain as daylight.

And now, inside the house they were scavenging for supplies, the damn woman wanted to listen to music. Her face beamed like a shining star when she discovered a battery-powered cd player and a huge collection of cds reeled off scrupulously in alphabetical order. His heart had skipped a beat at the sound of a muffled squeal and he'd rushed into the living room, cussing himself for bringing her there, crossbow raised to eliminate the threat, only to find her clasping her hands together and grinning ear to ear.

He had left her. He had left them, actually; she had no right to feel this was personal. But she had felt abandoned, right or not. And it was as personal as it gets. She understood, of course she did. If there was one person left in the world able to fully grasp the complex relationship between the Dixon brothers and the overall situation, it would be safe to assume that this person was her. But still, something just didn't sit well in her gut, even when he came back, even when she told him how glad she was for this new decision, even when she comforted him for his brother's loss. It's not like she could be any much more in love with him. Given her feelings for Daryl had consumed completely every living cell of her body, there shouldn't be more room left for further development. But something still bothered her, jolting her stomach, twisting her heart every time she tried to behave normally around him, something she could neither interpret nor decipher at all. If she understood his reasons, though, why did she feel so numb towards him?

And then, right there and right at that moment, while reading the songs titles, it hit her. It hit her and she acknowledged it beyond any doubt that … It was easy. He left like it was nothing. Like he was just going hunting. He left her easily. Didn't hesitate, didn't even blink, didn't think of honoring her with a goodbye or, at least, use someone else as a messenger. He turned his back and walked away. Like she was nothing. She _was_ nothing. Not that he didn't care, of course he did, he cared for each one of them; that was the main reason he came back. He just didn't care for her more. She wasn't special to him. He had left her. And it was easy. Easy.

"Keep it low," he grumbled.

She approached him slowly and reached out a hand to help him up so he could join her for a dance, gazing him tentatively but intensely.

"Leave me alone," he growled, stubbornly keeping his eyes to the opposite direction.

Carol didn't waver, her delicate, pale fingers spread out, longing for his touch.

"This is bullshit!" he hissed and finally whirled to face her, angry flames kindling in his blue eyes. "You're gonna get us killed."

She didn't flinch at the way he snapped at her, steadily holding his frowned expression, hand still anticipating.

"What's your problem?" he growled again, ready to run for the hills. He would have, literally, but something flickering inside her eyes stopped him. She was neither flirting nor teasing him; not as much as a faint smile rippled her dead serious expression. A sudden sting of fear squeezed his chest.

She shrugged. "It's just a dance, Daryl. Can't kill you."

Yeah… He wasn't so sure about that.

"No." His voice gruff, but softer than before.

"Please…" she said feebly, looking clearly in distress.

He eyed her warily, something was wrong. "Dunno how," he avowed begrudgingly.

"I'll show you. It's nothing." She curled her palm around his fingers and dragged him closer to the cd player, leading the way.

Carol squared her shoulders, standing only inches away from his face. She took his hands slowly and put them on her hips, not wanting to make him hug her around the waist and scare him away with too much intimacy and closeness. She then snaked her left arm behind his nape, pressed the play button and placed her right hand just above his chest, instantly aware of his throbbing heart and the recoiling nerves beneath his skin. Daryl had trouble focusing, mesmerized by the softness of her touch. He blinked again and again to shove away the dizziness.

She didn't have any strength to fight for him anymore; drained of courage and deprived of confidence after the way he had left her in the first place, the only feeling towering inside her was a devastating sense of exhaustion accompanied with the repellent taste of bitterness in her dry mouth. She was done. Through. Over. If he wanted her, he would have done something about it, he wouldn't sabotage the prospect at least. Not leaving in the first place. Apologizing, explaining later. Anything. Even kiss her right now.

She had no idea why she had dragged him to this dance he obviously loathed. Maybe it was that need again to _feel_ him. To feel _him_. Maybe she even thought it might be the proper moment and circumstance for a stolen kiss. Only she couldn't bring herself to do it anymore. He had rejected her in every possible way. He didn't consider her worthy of a farewell or a clarification. Why did she keep refuting the facts? Why did she keep repeating herself like a gospel that there was something in the air between them, a twinkle in his pupils when he looked at her, a lingering of his gaze each time he spotted her, a brittle twitch of his lips sacredly saved only for her? There was nothing. She imagined things. Her mind had been tricking her ruthlessly. He felt nothing. She was just another member of the group to him.

Maybe this dance was her unspoken goodbye. She had lived a love story in silence and decency for so long now; a love story made of fairytale stardust, with butterflies in the stomach and fireworks in the sky; a love story in which every warm look, every crooked smile, every touch lightened up the surrounding hell till this doomed world was bright and sunny like heaven; a love story that dealt with fear, separation, death, loss, grief and bereavement almost daily; a love story so breathtaking, intense, profound and meaningful she still wondered how her heart hadn't exploded at some point; a love story that thrived, bloomed and withered inside her; a love story that was not reciprocated and ripped her apart. She had lived a love story alone. And it was time she put it to rest.

"It will be over before you know it," she muttered. Her lips quirked upwards but nothing reached her eyes.

When the music started, he inhaled a lungful of air and held it. Carol swayed gracefully in his arms, bending her waistband, enticing him along into an ever light swing, barely moving. In vain he searched her gaze for guidance, her eyes remained downcast and in the haze of the moment he wondered if it was on purpose. His breath grew heavy, her proximity and the sweetness radiating off her presence awakening sensations he didn't know were hibernating beneath his skin.

_So many nights, I'd sit by my window,  
Waiting for someone to sing me his song._

He knew this song. He had a crystal clear memory of his mother, standing in front of a window with one of her favorite Virginia slims between her fingers and a black eye, staring at him with a half smile across her lips identical to his; the song playing in the background. But he had this gut wrenching feeling their situations where quite different. His mother was waiting for something to change, hoping the black eye marring her face would be the last. He felt like he had somehow crossed the finish line, not waiting anymore, having someone to sing him her song. Carol.

She had been waiting all her life for him, her one true match, her prince, her other half, the one, whatever the right word was. When she was young she dreamed of him. When she married Ed she thought he was him. When she finally found him it took her a while to realize it was truly him due to his misleading shell, but once she did, she decided to wait for him for as long as it took. It was only now that she forced herself to admit that it might never have been a matter of time, but simply a matter of will. He didn't want her.

_So many dreams, I kept deep inside me,  
Alone in the dark, now you've come along._

Carol had come along, loneliness was shoved away. He could never confess this loudly into her face, but she was the one to turn on the switch and shed light in the bleak darkness of his dreams. Her eyes were the illuminated lighthouse guiding him.

_And you light up my life,  
You give me hope, to carry on.  
_

Who was he kidding? Hiding behind his superb physical stamina, he played her protector and savior, but it was actually her who had saved him in every possible way. He was nothing when their paths crossed. Nothing more than an ill-mannered redneck. But she saw a man of honor, every bit as good as the rest of them and she insisted so much, he actually believed it and spent his days struggling to become the man she thought he was. He had never dared to ask himself why he even bothered to be that man, but now he couldn't fight it anymore. The answer was right there, mocking at him; he wanted to be worthy of her.

_You light up my days  
And fill my nights with song. _

Who was he kidding? He had come back for her. Maybe he would have anyway for the rest of the group eventually, but she was the catalyst that triggered his return after only a couple of days he and Merle spent fending for themselves in the woods. Because the first night he almost felt like a little boy lost in the woods, afraid of the pitch black that engulfed him, left to wonder where the dauntless hunter was buried. He had stayed awake all night long, fearing that somewhere far away, she was doing the same, scared of the dark. He had come back because he was worried sick about her, to the point his heart was beating erratically and his breaths failed to fill his lungs with oxygen.

_Rollin' at sea, adrift on the waters  
Could it be finally, I'm turning for home_

Who was he kidding? She was the reason he hadn't gone back to prison to say goodbye. Because how the fuck was he supposed to say goodbye to her? She would never let go without a fight, she would have probably cried and hugged him and begged him to stay. And he? What was he supposed to do? How would he disentangle himself from her grip? Why would he do the last thing he wanted to do in this world?

Carol never glanced at him, too broken to meet his eyes without stripping the raw pain of her heart. She kept hers sealed the whole time, fighting back tears and swallowing the lump in her throat. It was her last chance to greedily inhale his earthy scent; she wouldn't ruin it with the choking sobs that threatened to consume her.

_Finally a chance to say, "Hey, I Love You"  
Never again to be all alone. _

Who was he kidding? He had left because of her. He saw a way out with Merle, grabbed it and held on to it like it was a lifeline. He knew there was something powerful brewing between them. He also knew whatever it was it meant approaching a slippery slope, leading gradually but inexorably to disaster. And it scared the shit out of him, feeling that his life depended on her. He could have fought harder about his brother joining their group, impose his presence to everyone no matter what, just like he finally did, but he hadn't even tried. He chickened out and refused to spend a sheer thought to her, just turned his back and left. Because he was afraid she really loved him. And he was petrified he might actually love her back, with a fire that could burn them inside out. But now he knew… And he realized it was of paramount importance to let her know as well.

_And you light up my life,_  
_You give me hope, to carry on._  
_You light up my days_  
_And fill my nights with song._

He fisted his fingers at the hem of her shirt and shuffled closer, her hand on his heart now crashed between their connected chests. The fuzz of his whiskers brushing across her pale skin less than half an inch over the corner of her mouth sent his eyes rolling and he almost slumped on the wooden floor. He had to forcefully will his knees to support his weight and command his brain to suck oxygen in his lungs, consumed by dizziness and darkness, lightheaded, feeling he was floating in the air, feet no more touching the ground, sure her palm was imprinting a third degree burn until his flesh ripped open and his frantically throbbing heart jumped out to spare him from the torture with a quick death.

Only he didn't want to die; he actually cared about his life for the first time since he could remember himself. He wasn't just minding his survival; he really, really, really cared about his life. In this all enveloping numbness, he felt hot blood rushing through his veins, vivid and pulsating. He was alive, blind from desire but more alive than ever. A creeping suspicion that this wasn't the zenith, that there was still enough leeway for the ecstasy to overpower them, made him release a low moan. He could feel even more alive. If only he leaned a bit more, or bowed his head. A fraction of an inch would suffice. What the fuck was happening to him? Taking in the scent radiating off her, chin almost trembling. He didn't just have trouble staying alert; he found it impossible to breathe. Why wouldn't she tilt her head to meet him? Why did she keep her eyes shut? His eyes were digging holes in her face, his nose rubbing the grey tips of her hair. He craved her lips. A kiss was the answer to all their questions.

_You, You light up my life_  
_You give me hope to carry on_  
_You light up my days_  
_And fill my nights with song_

Oh, God, why did he do that to her? He was so oblivious to her feelings, he, with the acute hunter senses, didn't realize that his lips were almost tracing her face, barely not touching her aroused skin, that his hot, rasped breaths were burning her sanity, that the shaky air escaping her mouth was probably tickling his chin. All he had to do was bow his head a hint and his mouth would effortlessly cover hers. He was so oblivious he didn't realize that every now and then she had to curl her fingers around the collar of his shirt to steady herself, because the warmth of his body made the room spin and her knees quiver from yearning.

Or maybe he wasn't oblivious at all and just felt sorry for her and her one sided love. Bur she didn't want his pity. Love or not love, they were equal. She had earned this much, her place in the group. They could still be friends and companions. She would overcome her sorrow and find the courage to lock eyes with him again in the future. She would bury her love deep inside her and live in his shadow. And she would never embarrass him with her feelings again, never invoke any kind of sexual tension between them. She would respect his desire.

_It can't be wrong, when it feels so right_

_Cause you, you light up my life_

It didn't just feel right, Carol in his arms. It felt natural, almost irrevocable, and definitely essential for his heart to keep beating. It also felt incomplete, because her lips were not where they were supposed to be, glued on his.

He tried to control his breathing and leaned forward to kiss her, the moment her arm yanked to press the stop before the music was over and she turned her face away from him, releasing herself from the embrace.

"Thank you," she mumbled, her voice hoarse, eyes never drifting on him.

Before he had the chance to overcome the shock and react, she was gathering their supplies, heading for the truck outside.

This time he was the one left behind, gasping for air as if he was punched in the stomach, with empty arms, watching her back straying away from him, thinking he would drop dead from love and desire. Now he knew how she had felt.

* * *

_Ugh…_

_For some reason I haven't yet figured, it was one of the hardest chapters to write and took me forever. Maybe it was that I tried to tell this story from two points of view at the same time and nothing seemed right :)_

_I know it was heartbreaking, but I hope you liked it anyway!_

_There is a point in all this, I promise! It might take 2-3 stories more to find out, but I really have something specific in mind!_

_And wish me luck, I need as much as I can get this week._

_I'll try to update as soon as possible :)_

_Thank you for reading :) Your review would mean the world to me :)_

8


	15. is curved with pain

_Hey, everyone!_

_Thank you all for the kindness and the encouraging words :)_

_Another chapter very dear to me… I would really like to dedicate this to **dark-hatake**, with the honest wish that everything is better now._

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"Um… Rick said we should pair up… Safety in numbers, till we get to know the newcomers better…" He was standing right there, at the entrance of her cell, with the curtain slightly yanked away, nervously chewing his thumbnail, eyes darting everywhere but on her, his few belongings tucked offhandedly in his back pack, dumped on the cement floor.

She gawked at him wide-eyed from the bottom bunk of her cell, the needle she was holding to patch his jeans started to tremble in her hand. What kind of new torture was this? Accepting he didn't feel for her the same way she felt for him was easier said than done, but she would finally find the way to be around him without having her heart jump in her throat; finally meaning around a decade later, according to a few rough calculations she made.

Daryl fidgeted, nervously shifting on his foot, waiting for an answer.

She had been spending her days physically aching from longing and yearning for that man, trying to reconcile with the idea that deep friendship was all there would ever be between them, desperately waiting for the nightfall, to flee in her cell and dissolve in her crashing loneliness, far from intrusive eyes. Sleep was a pipe dream for the largest parts of her restless nights, haunted by the feeling of his hot breath against her until her stomach was nothing more than a knot and she ended up crying herself to sleep. With him in there, even these few hours of intermittent doze would turn into a wishful thinking. Especially after the dance they had shared yesterday, when they stomped into a cd player in one of the looted houses. Her mind felt stuck to those minutes, incessantly reproducing every moment.

She nodded absentmindedly and he stepped in, dropping his stuff at the corner across her. No, that was too much. Her mind started racing. Hershel and Beth, Glenn and Maggie, Rick with Carl and Judith…

"You know you don't have to do that," she shrugged, trying her very best to sound casual. "I can share with Michonne, I mean she's the obvious choice…" If all he needed was a way out, she could give him this much.

"Michonne is with Karen. Said she wants to keep a close eye on her." He knew he had hurt her and he knew he wanted her. What he didn't know was how to undo or fix either of these things. After yesterday's dance, he was left crippled from desire for her and the heart wrenching doubt that he might have been too late was whipping him relentlessly. He wanted an excuse to be there and Rick had given him the perfect one.

There, Michonne was with Karen and he felt trapped with poor, alone Carol. She threw her legs over the bunk's edge and dragged herself off, so she could stand and face him. "I can protect myself." she stated softly but firmly. "You still don't have to do that."

Daryl winced and the thousand emotions that flickered in his narrowed eyes reared a sting of guilt in her chest. He was still her friend, he still cared about her, he wasn't there for his safety, he was there to make sure she was okay. Managing the pain he inadvertently inflicted on her was something she knew how to do, but hurting him was out of question; the look in his eyes shattered her heart and she felt the need to cry again. No, she wouldn't hurt Daryl, he had his fair share of pain and rejection for ten lifetimes and if he was oblivious and non reciprocal to her feelings it wasn't his fault. She would give anything to make him happy, even if that meant sharing a cell with him and tamping her love down.

"I don't need this shit." he growled, picking up his things and heading to the door.

"Wait, wait," she blocked his way, blues eyes pleading. "I'm sorry; I just don't want you to feel like you're stuck with me," she clarified hastily. Plus she wanted him; she still wanted him so badly, with an urge and a flame that scorched her inside out; she would never be strong enough to send him away.

Stuck with her? Carol was a smart woman, when the fuck had she become a fool? He was tempted to lash out at her big time. Stuck with her? He fuckin' couldn't reach her cell soon enough.

Carol smiled to him, trying to disentangle the back pack from his steel grip, but he refused to uncurl his fingers, his eyes fixed on her. "All I meant was that you don't need an alternative if you prefer to stay alone."

"We're both running short of roommates right now," he said coldly, still indecisive of whether to stay or leave. This was the second day she avoided his gaze.

"I'm sorry, if Merle was still here…"

"Naw…" he admonished her gently, finally releasing the back pack. "The bastard snored like a bear. I'd probably choose you anyway."

She felt like he stabbed her in the heart. He had made a choice when Merle was alive and his choice didn't even involve letting her know, his choice didn't entail as much as a goodbye for her. That's how deeply he didn't care for her any more than he did for every other member of their group. He instantly caught her face drop. He had hurt her so much and he was so incapable to face it, that it only made him more defensive, instinctively feeling the need to give her more shit on the top of it all.

"He was my brother. I thought you'd understand," he accused, mentally kicking himself. What he meant was that leaving her behind was the biggest mistake he had made in a life full of huge mistakes. What he meant was that he'd gladly and gratefully spend the rest of his days making up to her for that moment of ineffable weakness and cowardice.

"I do. But still… You could have said a goodbye." It was the first time she ever articulated the thought that had been torturing her out and loud. And it sounded ridiculous. After everything they had suffered, the loss and the terror and the psycho Governor after them, she sounded like a meek, needy woman, absurdly holding a grudge for not getting her pathetic goodbyes.

"What difference would that make?" Coward. Pussy. It would have made all the difference of the world, probably because he wouldn't even find the guts to play it out. He had finally admitted it to himself that had he returned to say goodbye, he'd never found the courage to walk away from her. But how the fuck was he supposed to explain something like that? He already felt idiot enough trying to worm his presence into her cell, invoking every kind of excuses… Let alone the ultimate humiliation he'd feel once she found out that he was the one who sent Michonne to "keep a close eye on Karen", despite her will. There were no secrets in this fuckin' place; it was only a matter of time before his lie was uncovered.

Carol felt like an idiot again. He was right. What difference would that make? For him it was just the same. Saving himself from the goodbyes also meant saving himself from the awkwardness and the tears. The need to see him even for one last time was hers, they didn't share it, there was nothing mutual there. "Doesn't matter now. So… which bunk do you want?" She changed the subject quickly.

He shrugged. "I'll take the one on the top, since you're already settled."

He was nervous, she could see that crystal clear. "Make yourself comfortable," she encouraged, dropping his back pack of the table.

He sprawled at the chair next to her. "It's fuckin' crazy out there," he sighed, watching her neatly folding his few clothes, sorting his spare arrows. It was just a matter of seconds before she found it… The biting of his lip was almost painful.

"Too many people, huh?" She smiled her understanding. This level of commotion was too much for a loner like himself.

He snorted and cracked her his infamous crooked smile. "It's like we're running a nursing home in the middle of the apocalypse."

Carol giggled. "You know Tyreese couldn't leave them behind. It'd be a death sentence. And it's not that bad either."

"What? I'm not every bit as good as Tyreese now?" He raised an eyebrow humorously, but mustered everything he had to conceal his sincere resentment. Daryl hated that guy. He hated his perfect manners and his huge heart and the eloquence he had with words and the way he treated Carol without being ashamed and how easy and natural his coziness seemed to be around her. Most of all, he hated that one of those days, he was afraid Carol would inevitably make the comparison between them and her verdict would slap him in the face.

She chuckled. "You are. You are better. But if I let you know, you'll probably punch a wall or something and there's no time for broken knuckles with all these people around."

He blushed, but laughed it off shyly. Good to know she still thought highly of him. Losing her respect would make it impossible for him to keep putting one foot in front of the other, it would mean being ripped apart from the only reason he had left to wake up every morning.

And then it happened. Her bright face froze as she dredged the cd player out of his back pack with gritted teeth, staring at it in mere disbelief.

"I took it the other day," he said hoarsely. This was half the message he hoped to convey.

"Why?" Her voice thick with emotion. That. Things like that had misled her to believe he felt something about her too in the first place. New tears welled up in her eyes, this was too much to bear. Yesterday she was too overwhelmed to think about grabbing the cd player from the house and he had done it for her. Why would he even bother? He didn't agree with her ridiculous need to listen to music anyway. Why did it matter to him that it was important to her?

"Doesn't take up any space… And we can spare a couple of batteries every now and then." He tried to sound nonchalant, but his voice wavered.

Carol blinked her tears away. "Thank you."

"Ain't nothing."

"You brought cds too?" she asked impressed, peering inside the bag, never letting go of the device in her hands.

"Well, it's pretty much useless without them, ain't it?" He reached out his arm and pressed the play button, his callous fingers lingering against her skin.

"Thank you… It means so much, really." He had no idea how much; he had practically enslaved her for the rest of her life. When the music started, she swallowed hard, but the lump only grew bigger. There was no forgetting this man, no moving on from him. She could never get over how much she loved him. He was just… Daryl. And he was perfect. And he had no idea how perfect he was. And he was killing her, damn it.

_Maybe I didn't treat you  
Quite as good as I should have _

All he was searching for was a way to apologize. For every time he had carelessly hurt her. For every mean word he had spat to her face. For leaving her. There was nothing he wouldn't do to erase the record and being granted a clean slate with her. If only they could start over, he would do so much better.

_Maybe I didn't love you  
Quite as often as I could have _

He stood up and moved behind her. He wanted her. He wanted to kiss her. He didn't want to pretend that he was blind to the tears glistening in her eyes anymore. He just wanted to wipe them away with his lips. Give her everything he could, although it would never be enough for this woman.

_Little things I should have said and done  
I just never took the time _

Cupping her shoulder with his hand he squeezed it gently to turn her around to face him. She had given up, he knew. He had drained her of everything. There was a time when she would have made it so much easier for him; she would have done most of it alone. But now she just didn't believe anymore, she had no faith in them anymore. And it was a shame, because he was ready to fight like a lion now.

_You were always on my mind  
You were always on my mind _

They were standing so close, only the cd player between them, his heart was hammering and he had trouble breathing once again, but she kept her eyes downcast, just like yesterday. It had always been about her. Ever since Sophia got lost, it was about her.

_Maybe I didn't hold you_  
_All those lonely, lonely times_

He tried to pull the cd player away from her hands, ignoring that her nails had turned white by the stern grip she had on it.

_And I guess I never told you  
I'm so happy that you're mine _

That was all. She had to be his again. He couldn't breathe anymore and he noticed her chest was heaving. The moment he detached the cd player from her, he felt the dampness of a dripping tear on his hand. He placed it on the table behind her.

_If I make you feel second best  
Girl, I'm sorry I was blind _

She was crammed between the table and his muscled body now, their chests almost touching.

_You were always on my mind  
You were always on my mind _

His arm obeyed the command his brain sent and lifted to touch her. His fingers brushed her chin, tilting it softly upwards.

_Tell me, tell me that your sweet love hasn't died  
Give me, give me one more chance  
To keep you satisfied, satisfied _

There she was, finally. Teary, blue eyes burning holes in his, heartbreaking pain distorting her delicate features, ragged, labored breaths escaping her lungs like soft moans. He would make all these go away. He loved her. He just had to kiss her to let her know. He bowed his head, closed his eyes, her burning breath was on his lips now… The cell was spinning around…

_Little things I should have said and done  
I just never took the time_

"Hey, Carol!" A familiar, warm voice mangled the moment into splinters.

He jerked backwards, startled, while she inhaled sharply and swept her face.

"Yeah," her voice barely recognizable.

In a second Tyreese was inside the cell, grinning from ear to ear.

_You were always on my mind _

"Is this music? It seems forever since the last time Elvis shook the waters a bit," he laughed wholeheartedly, nodding towards the epic frown in Daryl's face.

_You are always on my mind _

Carol echoed his laugh like a robot. "I know, right? Daryl found a…"

_You are always on my mind_

Another second and she were pulled in a firm embrace, snuggled tightly against his chest. "Oh, come on, give the man a dance!"

Daryl watched the scene in front of him pinned against the wall, jaw hanging agape, in vain looking for her eyes again, his furious gaze stabbing daggers on Tyreese's back. Cussing under his breath, he stumbled out of the cell, tripping on his feet as if he was drunk.

It was only then that it dawned on Tyreese that he might have ruined a moment there. "Um… I'm sorry, did I interrupt something here?"

"No, not really," Carol mumbled against his shoulder, fighting back tears.

_Maybe I didn't treat you  
Quite as good as I should have  
Maybe I didn't love you  
Quite as often as I could have _

_Maybe I didn't hold you  
All those lonely, lonely times  
And I guess I never told you  
I'm so happy that you're mine_

* * *

It was past midnight when she heard the clogging of his boots approaching their cell. She had stayed awake and vigilant, wondering if he would come back to sleep, registering even the slightest of noises, the possibility of getting some sleep ringing like a hilarious joke in her ears. When he entered, she was laying flat on her back, pretending to be asleep. He toed off his boots and climbed on the top bunk soundlessly as only a skilled hunter could.

She spent the rest of the night staring at the bottom of his cot. He spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling. So close, yet so far apart.

* * *

_Please don't hate me :) __Stay with me :)_

_**This could be nothing less, but a heart breaking path for them. BUT...There is a point in all this and now you have the pieces to figure it out!** _

_Any ideas?_

_Thank you for reading and please don't stop reviewing! The amazing feedback I get from you is so motivating!_

6


	16. that can't be kissed

_Hey, everyone!_

_Once again, thank you all for the amazing words :) You are killing me!_

_Just… read! I can't spoil anything! This chapter will give you answers; the next one is the good part :)_

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

He was jealous. No, he wasn't. Dixons weren't jealous. That was out of question. But that sting in his heart… It felt like a wild beast had clawed its way through his innards and had him squirming under an unyielding grip. Shit, what would Merle say? Who cared what he'd say? Son of a bitch didn't know when to shut up and back off. Let alone that he just went and got himself killed out of nowhere and left him alone. Who was he kidding though? Daryl missed Merle like hell. His casualty was the kind of bereavement that made him want to crumple up on a corner, sequestered in the fringes of real life unraveling around him and rock back and forth, sobbing himself to sleep. It would have been easier his pain, more compliant and amenable, if he had her by his side. He wanted her. Damn, he wanted her. And he wanted her to be his and his only. No freaking Tyreese in his way. Merle would have related to this, despite calling him a pussy. He'd be the right person to blow some steam off, probably beating the shit out each other until they were both too spent and exhausted and hurt to keep fighting. Dixon style dealing with problems. Only Merle wasn't around now and everyone else had to cope with his pungent demeanor.

And now there he was. All well-built and huge and gracious, looking fresh and rested, sauntering his way to the watch tower he was, as if leisure was the one thing they had in abundance these days. Of course he was. Unlike Daryl, who had spent a never ending night swallowing hard and staring holes at the ceiling, desperately gnawing his lips to resist climbing down his bunk and grab her in his arms, Tyreese had actually slept through the night. Why wouldn't he? He was the one that ended up holding her and dancing with her. With _his_ fuckin' song. He had gone all over himself, gritted his teeth to behave like a normal man making a move on a woman based on what he knew from TV and disregarded his complete lack of experience. Normal man, his ass; more like a fifteen year-old, with music and bullshit and trying to predict how the scene would unravel. He had put an Elvis song, goddammit, to set in the perfect mood in order to apologize and kiss her. And how did that turn out for him? The bastard had stormed inside the cell the moment their lips were about to touch and literally danced _his_ song with her. And on the top of it all, Daryl had to just take it and walk out, because if he had dealt with him the way he wanted to he would have terrified her, challenging a man into a fight to the bitter end in front of her eyes.

It was only a matter of time, though, he knew. Or he should have. Tyreese was good for Carol, it wouldn't take her forever to realize. Tyreese was good for her and Daryl was probably the worst thing ever happened. He was the man to always hurt her, despite her kind intentions; fuck, he was the guy who lashed out at her and insulted her brutally when her own daughter stumbled out of the barn as a walker. Right, and then he thought he'd, by some miracle, compensate that by training her. But for some reason he couldn't quite articulate, he thought she'd always be there, waiting for him. Not that he took her for granted or he was playing hard to get, no… He didn't really have any game in his mind. It was just… he wasn't ready. Or so he thought. Until he felt he lost her and then… BAM! Armed to the teeth with moves and fucking' Elvis songs, but never able to just utter his feelings, the familiar tongue-twister always present when her eyes were transfixed on him. He hoped she had just given up, too spent fighting his stubborn resistance, but now he was face to face with the possibility that she had actually moved on. And he couldn't breathe at the thought.

Tyreese had reached the perch now, emerging from the corner, his familiar snow-white grin all over his face, friendly as fuck. "Hey. What's up?"

"Nothing much," he grunted. It wasn't Tyreese's fault that Carol was finally sick of him and wanted somebody else, but still, it didn't mean he had to be best friends with the guy. He was seriously pondering on whether he'd ever speak to Rick again after letting him join their group.

Tyreese ignored the hostile welcome; he was used to it by now and Daryl's behavior towards him was not the reason he was there in the first place. Leaning over the railway next to the redneck, he focused on the walkers outside the fence. "Walkers seem slower…" he stated reflectively.

"Yeah, it's the winter."

"What? The winter slows them down? Hmm… Hadn't figured that out." Tyreese sounded surprised. "Well, that's good news," he offered with an honest smile.

Daryl didn't respond, just glared at him, furious that the other guy was actually taller and he couldn't tower over him to make his menace conspicuous.

"You don't like me much, do you?" Tyreese sighed, watching him cautiously.

Daryl snorted his discontent. "You want something?"

"Actually yeah," he replied quickly. "I wanted to talk to you about Carol."

There. Punch in the gut. Blocked airways. Fuckin' Tyreese needed his fuckin' permission. As his heart started hammering under his chest, he wondered vaguely if Carol knew about this. What a fool he was, she had surely consented to this, counting backwards for the moment Tyreese would replace him in her cell. One night, that was all he'd ever get with her. One night in the top bunk. Not even touching her. Daryl swallowed hard; his breath came out heavy now. "What about her?" He tried his best to sound composed and indifferent but hated the hoarseness in his voice. Avoiding saying her name out loud was a first step, or he might end up begging Tyreese on his knees not to take her away from him.

"Is there… uh… I mean…" Tyreese stammered, tangling his fingers. "I usually don't mince my words, but… Shit, this is awkward," he huffed.

A growl escaped Daryl's throat, nostrils flaring in an attempt to control his temper. _This_ was awkward for Tyreese?

"I know I don't need your permission…"

"Then what the fuck you want?" he snarled, a lethal spike in his tone.

Tyreese lifted his hands defensively. "No reason to be like that, man. I just don't wanna mess with someone else's woman."

"She ain't mine," Daryl drawled. But he wished she was with everything he had.

"I figured that," Tyreese nodded, waiting for the other man to elaborate. When Daryl remained stone still, jaw clenched, eyes darting in the horizon, he went on. "She told me you went off with your brother, left her behind. You wouldn't have if…"

"She was better off with the group," he interrupted him, but the knot in his stomach jerked. At some point he would have to stop lying to everyone around him and admit he just chickened out when he bolted with Merle, leaving her behind the way he did.

"Not from what she says."

Daryl winced. "What?" Glare was an understatement. He was now literally trying to murder the guy with his gaze. His fingers were curled into fists, nails threatening to tear his palms open till they drew blood.

Tyreese shrugged, casting sideways glances to him, perfectly aware of the threat. "Look, man, all I need to know is that I'm not getting in the middle of something here."

Daryl's eyes narrowed, a huge lump in his throat almost choking him, their surroundings immersed in a haze. In the middle of something here? Fuck, yeah, he was swaying gracefully in the middle on his fuckin' life. Daryl was completely paralyzed, shaking from rage, fearing than the bones in his jaw would smash any moment now.

Tyreese had to admit, if this was less of a real life threatening situation, it would be fun as hell. "Do you want her?" he asked flatly, yet firmly.

Daryl closed the distance between them. "Is it me you wanna fuck?" he was openly barking at his face right now.

The other man's head snapped, eyebrows curved upwards.

"Then why the fuck you care what I want?"

It was Tyreese's turn to remain silent this time, weighing Daryl, wondering how far from his breaking point he was. He had his answer by now, no matter what. There was no doubt that Daryl wanted Carol. But did he love her?

Daryl kept spluttering out of control, his voice contorted into a strained howl. "Wanna fuck her? Go ask her!"

"I don't wanna fuck her," Tyreese retorted calmly. "I really like her. And if you know her, and I believe you do, you know she's not the fucking type."

Daryl took a step forward, jostling his chest against Tyreese's. "What do _you_ know about her?" he hissed pointedly.

Tyreese flinched at the attack but stood his ground. Sure, he expected a certain level of immaturity from the redneck, but this kind of raw, childish belligerence was almost hilarious and tragic at the same time. "She's the fucking type?" he sneered. With the corner of his eye, he caught Glenn watching the scene, slowly approaching.

"No, you asshole, she ain't!" Daryl yelled, shoving him away.

"See? That's what I know about her. I also know she has a soft spot for you. And that's why I'm asking you if there's something from your side too," pausing for a moment and taking a step backwards. "You stay out of my way, I know how to make a woman forget," the last sentence was blurted out provocatively, aiming at throwing Daryl over the edge.

How to make a woman forget. How to make Carol forget. How to make Carol forget him. _Him_. Daryl saw red. And did the only thing a Dixon knew how to do in despair. He lunged, releasing a primal groan.

The last thought that crossed Tyreese's mind was that Daryl loved her.

* * *

Carol had noticed the way Maggie was stalking her since breakfast, always going around the bush, randomly throwing innuendos. The matter of her concern was more than plain, but Carol hoped that not taking up the gauntlet would silently convey the message. Therefore she tried her best to ignore the surreptitious peeks Maggie was casting at her. But once the other women from Woodbury scattered around and they were the last left in the kitchen, Maggie exhaled deeply, giving in to the temptation.

She had enough of this shit and she only wanted the best for Daryl and Carol anyway. She was shipping them hard, the way she used to ship fictional characters on TV shows in the past, only these two were real in flesh and blood and her heart was wrenching with their inability to connect. If they were in her pre-apocalyptic universe she would even have a name for that pair, Caryl; but they weren't and she was smart enough not to jeopardize her physical integrity by letting them know.

"What's wrong with Daryl?" she suddenly cut to the chase, staring Carol straight in the eyes.

Carol's head snapped; she didn't expect this open question. Tearing her gaze away, she shrugged, trying to avoid the damn conversation.

"Okay, what's wrong with Daryl and you?" Maggie insisted.

Carol sighed. What was wrong with Daryl and her was that he had broken her heart more times than she could actually count and he still kept sending her all those mixed signals she couldn't clearly put together. There was no explaining it to Maggie or anyone else for what it's worth.

"Why don't you two…"

Carol interrupted her with a raised hand. "Sweetheart, I love you, but this is none of your business," she said with a guarded, tight-lipped smile.

"But everyone knows you're in love with him!" Maggie exclaimed.

She shook her head. Not only was she rejected, she was humiliated to everyone as well. Not that she cared that much; she really was in love with him, so irreversibly and unconditionally she'd gladly scream it to the world. If only that was enough… "You're old enough to know this is not enough at all."

"He's in love with you!"

"Oh, honey…" Carol couldn't help but smile gently at Maggie's arguments. "You are so young… Things are so simple and clear for someone in your age."

"But why…"

Carol shook her head. "Too much history already. Too much damage done before we even met. There is no undoing the past," she said, voice wavering.

"He's in love with you!" Maggie reiterated stubbornly, slamming her hand on the counter and wincing at pain.

"He's not," Carol cupped her cheek and stroked her softly, "and if he hears you yapping around about something like that, he'll kick your ass", she went on, winking. "And I'll help him."

Giving up on someone you wanted so badly was something Maggie couldn't process."Why?"

"Because he has every right to want whatever it is he wants," Carol clarified. "You can't just force a woman down his throat like that. Plus, don't you think this is also a little degrading for me too?"

Maggie was getting angry now. She always had the impression than Daryl was the blind one, but now she was wondering if Carol was equally oblivious. "I'm not saying to force anything. I'm just pointing out what I see. The man is in love."

"No, he's not."

Before Maggie had the chance to respond, they heard the approaching sound of boots stumbling on the floor and a second later a dirty, sweaty and slightly bloody Tyreese popped in.

Carol brought a hand on her mouth. "Oh my God, what happened? Walkers?" she asked in fear, eyes searching for her gun.

Tyreese peered at Maggie, who had buried her face in her hands at his sight. "I hope yours went better," he grunted, slouching heavily on one of the chairs.

"Not really," she sighed, offering Tyreese a clean rag to press against his bleeding lip. "At least she didn't punch me."

Carol's eyes were drifting between them. "What's going on?" she asked firmly, folding her arms on her chest.

"I had a talk with Daryl. Didn't go very well…" Tyreese started, not sure how to proceed.

"About what?" She was genuinely curious now; and concerned.

Tyreese shifted nervously on the chair, he and Maggie exchanging guilty glances.

"Well Daryl doesn't walk around punching people," Carol declared flatly. "At least not anymore," she growled at Maggie when the last one puffed loudly her disagreement.

A thing that always struck Tyreese since he had joined the group was how a soft and genial woman like Carol managed to deal with Daryl's temper. But the person standing in front of him right now, with pressed lips and flaming eyes, ready to attack in defense of her man, was intimidating enough to make the toughest guy forget his words. "About you," he sighed.

"Me?" Her surprise was clear in her voice and her widened eyes, thin wrinkles etching across her forehead. When Tyreese's lips twitched but his mouth remained sealed, she turned to his co-conspirator. "Maggie?"

But Maggie avoided her gaze, staring at her own hands, blushed and embarrassed, looking like she was caught with her hands in the cookie jar.

Tyreese sighed at the lack of help from his accomplice and took it on himself to explain the whole mess he and Maggie had achieved. "I had this feeling I got into the middle of something yesterday when I walked in your cell. I'm sorry; I guess I was too excited of the long forgotten sound of music… Um… Whatever… So I asked Maggie…"

"I told him you're in love, but you'll die before admitting it," she mumbled, mustering all her courage.

"And I might have asked his permission to make a move on you," he confessed, mimicking Maggie's stance.

Carol's jaw slumped. "You're not into me."

"He thinks I am," Tyreese shrugged. "Look, Maggie is right about you two, I can tell you this much. He snapped, went completely nuts when I told him. He lov…"

"Maggie must learn how to keep things for herself," she retorted, not allowing him to finish his sentence. That was between her and Daryl. Everyone else should back off. "And you Tyreese…"

"Please, Carol, don't tell Glenn. Or daddy," Maggie pleaded.

Carol wasn't really angry anymore. On the contrary, she was almost ready to burst into laughing. She felt she was chastising two naughty children, but what Tyreese said next caught her attention.

"Glenn knows. He's the one who broke us apart. If I didn't tell him, he was ready to give me a second round for what I told Daryl." Maggie was now chewing her thumbnail frantically, contemplating on the repercussions of what they had done. Things weren't supposed to play out like this. Instead of Carol and Daryl kissing under a tree, everyone would be mad at her and Tyreese; given that Daryl wouldn't plant an arrow between their eyes, of course.

"There was an actual fight?" Carol almost bellowed her disbelief, dragging them both out of their deep thoughts; until that moment he thought Daryl hit Tyreese, not the other way around as well.

Tyreese shook his head. "I thought you knew your man better. The guy saw red."

"You hit him?" she asked coldly with darkened eyes, body instinctively turning towards the door.

"Sorry I had to defend myself!" he exclaimed with indignation.

Carol didn't blink. No one puts a hand on Daryl and gets away with it. "The way I see it, it's not entirely his fault," her voice came out flat.

This time Tyreese chuckled. Sweet Carol seemed ready to lunge at him same way Daryl had. They were animals these two when it came down to defending each other. He vaguely wondered if he had ever seen two people so deeply and blindly in love with each other. "Hey," he said cautiously, "I admit I screwed up, but only because I wanted to help. I had the best of intentions and I apologize for hitting him back, but you realize I couldn't just let him kill me!"

Carol bit her lip, trying to suppress the voice inside her screaming that she would kill him herself if he ever hurt Daryl again and give time to the rational counterpoint that Tyreese was right to sink in her, ragged breaths escaping her throat.

"You're right, I'm sorry," she finally admitted, inhaling deeply. "Is he…"

"He's in worse shape than me, but not really hurt." Tyreese explained and went on when she nodded. "Rage is a bad ally in a fight, but I mostly tried to avoid his blows, I promise."

"Thank you," she whispered, shifting on her foot and glancing at the door.

Tyreese smiled. He liked her and deep down he liked Daryl too. "He has a slit in the eye and a bruised ego, nothing more. I wanted him to be intact for you, stayed as far away from his face as possible," he offered gently.

Carol nodded again, forcing a weak smile, still fidgeting.

"What are you waiting for?" Maggie yelled. "Go to him!"

This time Carol didn't need to be told twice. Grabbing a clean rag and a bottle of water she stormed out of the kitchen, throwing her woolen sweater around her shoulders. The last sound she heard from the kitchen was Maggie's and Tyreese's giggles with a "these two will be the death of us" comment.

* * *

_Really guys? You were worried? Like there was a chance I'd put Carol with Tyreese? In my fic? Oh, come on, you know me better than that :)_

_I enjoyed writing this sooooooo much! I loved this little conspiracy :)  
_

_Tyreese is a cutie pie!_

_And I really couldn't resist, I had to throw a Caryler in there :) Maggie, the shipper! How great was she? She was out of her mind, wanting to bang their heads together, pretty much as I do when I watch the show :)_

_I felt I wanted to see Carol and Daryl stand up for each other separately and I reeeeally wanted to see Daryl possessed by the green-eyed monster :)_

_The challenging part about this chapter was to make Carol and Daryl interact with other people too. I hope I did them all justice and that you found my version of Tyreese and Maggie convincing!_

_Who am I kidding, though? We're all waiting for the kiss :) Coming up asap :)_

8


	17. into smiles again

**Summary: **THE KISS :) (Talk is cheap…)

_Hey, everyone!_

_Please, try to ignore the fact that I wrote 5,500 words over a kiss… Gabby should be my middle name and the weird thing is I tend to be so quiet normally. I decided to post it all at once and not split it into two, because I'm not as sadistic as you may think and didn't want to torture you anymore…_

_The hint was in the titles: _

"_**Never a lip is curved with pain **_

_**That can't be kissed into smiles again"**_

_**Bret Harte**_

_(Not much of a hint though… Just that it was a four-part story, even though each chapter could easily be a stand alone, with a happy ending. But this wasn't exactly ground-breaking for these collection of stories, was it?)_

_**This chapter, a very dear one, is dedicated to **__**Pat83**__**, just because some people in this world are born with this certain touch and the rest of us are blessed with it :) I owe you, seriously! And you have no idea!**_

_Thank you all for your support and the great reviews! And I apologize to those of you who think I'm torturing you on purpose!_

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

She sprinted so fast she was out of breath by the time she reached the guard tower, knees shaking, muscles stiff and cramped from the suddenly vigorous exercise, but didn't stop to get herself together, climbing the stairs two at once only to reach him sooner.

Daryl was sprawled on the perch, leaning heavily against the wall with closed eyes, a grim expression in his face, but when he whirled his head and saw her climbing the last stairs, he gritted his teeth and mustered all his physical and emotional strength to drag himself off the floor.

"He ain't here," he grunted squaring his shoulders, his voice ringing more defeated than actually aggressive.

"I know," Carol replied calmly, stabilizing her labored breaths.

Of course she did. Tyreese had already told her he made everything clear between them and what a hot-headed, jealous asshole Daryl was and Carol had most certainly taken care of his split lip, before she came to treat him out of pity. After all, who would care about him if she didn't?

She moved closer to him and frowned at the sight of the long, uneven notch above his right eyelid when he faced her. Blood was spurting down his face, dripping on his leather jacket. Carol unscrewed the bottle of water she carried and drenched the rag, then placed the bottle on the railway and took a step forward, further reducing the distance between them.

"It's you I've been looking for." The truth of these words clenched her chest. Literally; she had been looking for him her entire life.

Their eyes met; hers, wide and clear, sparking with concern; his, dark and narrowed, full of pain and brewing rage. The more hurt he was, the more dangerous he became, Carol knew. She shouldn't underestimate the wounded animal in front of her for both their sakes. But she loved him and wanted to comfort him, reassure him than no one else would ever make her heart flutter. Damn, she didn't even possess one anymore, he had it in his back pocket.

When she lifted her arm to nurse his wound, he jerked backwards, yanking her hand away. He groaned and his lips quirked down, with a shade of sorrow in his expression she had only witnessed again the day he returned to prison without Merle. His stance was menacing, but his face radiated ultimate pain and misery. He faintly resembled the Daryl she had confronted in the farm that night after she refused to attend Sophia's funeral, the one that had nothing but bitterness and poisonous insults for her, only this one she was staring at right now was darker, much deeper immersed in his abyss, engraved pain springing directly from his soul, distorting every detail of his features. The broken man standing there was hardly identifiable as the Daryl she loved.

Carol kept her arm stretched between them, wet rag drooping in her open palm. He snatched it abruptly and pressed it on his wound, clumsily smearing blood all over his cheek and temple, the longing for her cool fingers running on his face almost unbearable.

"I'm fine," he grumbled through gritted teeth, rubbing his face with his other hand. "Go away." Alone. He wanted to be alone. He knew how to do this. He had been alone his entire life, not even Merle was by his side for its biggest part. She had offered him a way out, he knew. She had stripped her heart to him and offered him a chance to share his life, his grief, his love, his past, his future, his everything. And once this opportunity bloomed, instead of grabbing it with both hands, he had kicked it away, the worthless, simple-minded piece of shit was. So all he wanted to do now was to withdraw in the dark, bottomless depths of his soul to lick his wounds, invisible to people surrounding him, invisible to her and her kindness most of all. He had ruined it all and he had lost her. But he wouldn't bolt again. As much as he wanted to disappear in his natural place, the woods, where he would be a ghost, intractable to any of them, he wouldn't. This time he would pay the price, he would stay right there, forever protecting her, even if that meant watching her laughing happily into someone else's side. Hell, he would even protect the other guy if that's what it took for her to be happy.

Only he wished he was dead. He wished he could rip his own heart out of his chest and squeeze it into ashes.

It was then that she had her epiphany. He loved her, Maggie and Tyreese were right, her own instinct had been right all this time. That's why he was devastated, a ghostly doppelganger shadow of his real self, a decrepit barely able to haul his own feet. He loved her and he thought she didn't anymore; he believed Tyreese had spoken to him on behalf of them both and all she wanted was for him to leave her alone. He couldn't be more mistaken.

Carol took a step forward, but he only turned his back on her to hide himself. "Daryl…" she whispered softly, her fingertips tracing the angel wings on his jacket. The moment she touched him, even so imperceptibly, she could tell he stopped breathing.

"I'll come get my stuff later, don't worry," he mumbled.

He couldn't be more wrong about what she intended to say. Carol was balancing on a slippery slope and, in her panic to soothe him, made a mistake. "What Tyreese told…"

She realized that uttering his name was the worst choice she could possibly make the moment she heard it; she knew there was no way to take it back and undo the damage, when a furious Daryl spun around crashing her between him and the rail, screaming in her face.

"You wanna fuck with him? Go fuck with him! You can fuck all Woodbury for all I care!"

The rail behind her was jarring so violently under his furious clasp she instinctively fisted his shirt to cling to him, vaguely registering the dull thump of the water bottle landing on the ground beneath them as she realized she was half hovering over outside the perch. He roared like a wounded lion, spiting his rage all over her face, knowing he had no one else to blame but himself, trapped in his own cage. In vain she tried to reason with him, Daryl was way past talking rationally, way past listening to anything else but the deafening buzz in his ears.

"You don't need my permission! But it ain't mean I have to like it!"

His face, only inches away from hers, was rapidly burning her sanity, his own voice contorted in the same strained howl it was earlier before he lunged at Tyreese. Only much worse, for his pain was amped up to the point of losing his mind now that her blue eyes were transfixed on his; his own hardly remaining inside their sockets. She was killing him, damn it. Couldn't she see she was killing him? Why was she even here? What did she expect from him now?

"What the fuck do you want from me? Stand guard while you get it on?"

He was embarrassed. And humiliated. Jealous and suffering in anguish he never dreamed possible, his desperate cries and insults echoing everywhere around. Tearless sobs were violently penetrating his body and he was wheezing his agonizing breaths with a high-pitched whistle that terrified her.

Carol slapped him hard, half to bring him around and half because, despite all the attenuating circumstances her brain was invoking in his favor, she was barely the same woman that had absorbed his insults in the farm with a stiff upper lip. She would endure every adversity he had to throw at her, but she would stand her ground. If not for her, for him; to prove herself worthy of all the hours he spent building up her self-esteem, to live up to who he was and who she aimed to be to consider herself worthy of this man.

Daryl finally took a step back, allowing her to lean entirely inside the perch once again. Both of them were ready to collapse, their guts wrenched, faces distorted by the torment, but they locked their gazes in a gloomy duel, his eyes vying for dominance, hers to overcome his barriers. He was the one to break the silence, hunching his shoulders in resignation; he couldn't blame her, as much as that was exactly what he needed to do, he couldn't. It was his fault and he knew it for a while now. Too spent from rage and fight, he just focused on his ragged breaths and his hammering heart.

"I know it's my fault." Glassy eyes drifting far away. "Go now," he rasped blankly, resembling to an empty vessel of the man she knew.

It was now or never. Who knew if she would be able to drag him back to the light once she allowed him to withdraw in his darkness right now? It had taken forever to achieve this in the first place, who knew if she could do that again, after he had exposed his heart and gotten hurt in reward? Daryl wasn't the kind of man to recover from something even remotely close to that. He could endure almost everything that entailed physical pain or torture, survive it, rise stronger, but that didn't apply for emotional rejection. He was too vulnerable, too insecure, too broken to overcome this. All his life, his upbringing had made sure of that, his own parents feeding him nothing but abuse and crippled self confidence.

Carol tiptoed to level with him, wary eyes searching for his. He was there, looking at her, but at the same time he was light years away, looking yet not seeing her, vacant blue eyes lost in a torrent of pain. She could almost distinguish the wheels spinning in his brain, building up walls, fortifying him behind an entrenched ivory tower, bolstered by steel to alienate him from every outer influence and human contact. That was the only emergency exit he was familiar with, the only way to cope with losing her, to survive after drowning in unknown waters, after saturating in agony until there was nothing left other than excruciating pain. She was losing him and she was losing him fast.

Her fingers stroked his face, stained by the blood still rolling down, albeit slower now, the rag purposelessly dropped on the floor and she pasted her lips on his in what was nothing more than a peck, momentary and fleeting. This tentative initiative extracted no obvious reaction, but something deep in his gut twisted. Panicked eyes darted across his face, Carol gasping from a terrorizing squirm in her chest. She leaned closer again, this time cupping his face tenaciously with one hand, the other threading through the wisps of his hair, trying to activate a reaction, any reaction and she kissed him again, longer, lips moving against his. Nothing. His mouth was unyielding against hers, his arms hanging laxly by his sides. She stepped back again, her hands started to shake, her heart was pounding, all the courage she had put everything she had to muster slowly wearing off. And she was worried about him, vaguely wondering if she was accidentally killing him. He was dead still, his usually warm skin stone cold, his lips almost white, drained of blood, eyes wide open, no detectable sigh of breathing moving his chest. She wondered if his heart had ceased beating and he had died right there in front of her, at that particular moment.

Carol bridged the gap between them again, grasping the back of his neck. "Let me in," she whispered against his lips, her hot breath setting his resistance on fire, burning down the foundations of his protective walls, kindling his passionate desire for her once again. The double edged meaning of her words soared between the lesser than a fraction of inch that separated them for a few seconds.

He wanted to reassure her that she was already in, not a pore of his body had remained immune, not overwhelmed by her, that he was irreversibly consumed by her presence. He could fuckin' swear and let God or Devil or whoever steered their lives be his witness that his fuckin' blood cells had Carol's shape. Only he couldn't take control of his body, his deeply rooted defense mechanism claiming him after the day's repeated blows and chagrins.

" Let. Me. In. Daryl." she drawled loudly and pointedly, lips brushing his lighter than a feather, eyes welling up with tears, knees quivering, helplessness choking her. Her plea came out as a command, but it was mere desperation that gnarled her voice.

It was the sound of his name that finally did it; he was violently shocked back to reality, painfully blinking the dryness of his eyes as he inhaled sharply with a squeaky ping, filling his lungs with oxygen for the first time in what seemed like centuries. This time she didn't cover his mouth with hers. They stood right there, face to face, breathing in each other's mouths for endless moments, lips barely touching, taking in the precious sensation. The only sound his mind registered besides their ragged breaths was the faint whisper of his name she repeatedly breathed against him, until the realization of what was happening flooded and sank in him beyond any doubt. And then it happened.

It was brutal and painful and on the verge of being violent. Both his hands wrapped around her fragile neck in a suffocating, unbreakable grip and their mouths collided with a ferocity that had he not kept her steady, would have reeled her off. Her eyes rolled back as her head reclined from the momentum of his kiss and she hopelessly gasped for air, only to be met with his hot breath and wet tongue savagely invading her mouth, further clouding her senses, her arms swinging limp by her sides. He demanded entrance, intruding her lips with a devouring craving he had never experienced before, the level of urge and lust he was capable of startled him. From the distance this entire situation didn't look like a kiss at all; it would be crystal clear for an observer that a man was strangling a petite woman on the perch of the watch tower. Only for a second, though. Overcoming the initial shock, Carol's hands yanked almost immediately, slim fingers curled around his wrists, nails burying into his bare flesh. And she reciprocated, parting her lips further to swirl her tongue with his, claiming dominance of his mouth, thrusting herself forwards to savor him more, better, deeper. They weren't even hugging, caressing or touching each other with longing; they were past that. Just clutching onto each other with the sternest of grasps they could achieve, inflicting inadvertent pain, Carol almost drawing blood from his skin, Daryl barely allowing her to inhale the minor amount of oxygen through hissing breaths.

It was also desperate. Guttural groans mixed with soft moans were escaping their throats, the thin line between pain and pleasure more blurred than ever, as his whiskers scratched her pale skin and she only responded by tugging closer, ignoring the sting, lost in her passion. Deeper and deeper and never deep enough. Daryl bit her lower lip and she retorted by nipping his upper one, both of them sucking each other's life with an insatiable greed, hearts racing in sync. Desperate to taste and be tasted, they both succumbed to their drumming blood and the tingle of their heat, surrendering to this overwhelmingly lascivious yearning they had no idea was lurking in their veins for so long. If this free fall into their mutual flame could also mean their demise, they willingly condescended to it, feeling more alive than ever into this downward spiraling engulfing them beyond any control. And they couldn't stop; even out of breath and literally aching at some point, the sought intimacy, the thorough exploration of each other's savor was nowhere close to be achieved, no matter how hard they tried, releasing new, hoarse, bawling noises almost vehemently grieving the bottomless pit of their scorching need, almost crying out this ineffable desire that could be neither smothered nor satisfied.

And then it was perfect, too. Regardless the pain and the voracity, their stomachs were knotted by innumerable butterflies as if they were just two teenagers stealing their first kiss. Birds were chirping, Cherokee roses blossoming, fairies sprinkling stardust, unicorns being born, as the magnetic field between them electrified everything that surrounded them. Their shadows waltzed on the concrete and the rest of the world ebbed away. They both wished so at some point; that this greedy and hurtful kiss was their very first, that they could erase their records and be granted a clean slate with each other. Not that it really made any difference in the end of the day, though. This wasn't the first kiss for either of them. But it was the first that mattered for both of them. And he was for her and she was for him the last person either of them would ever kiss again. No one else could ever replace each other. So, in a way, the only way it made sense, it was simultaneously their first and their last kiss. And it was a perfect one.

Daryl broke the kiss first, ungluing his mouth from hers, but holding her only inches from his face. "Don't play with me," he pleaded, panting.

Carol found it impossible to articulate any real words. "Let me explain," she slurred, filling her lungs with oxygen to regain control of her brain. "I can explain." She vaguely recalled Tyreese and Maggie and the whole mess she had to elucidate, but her mind seemed unable to catch up. "I want you," she whispered instead, hoping it was enough to convey the message. "Only you." It was.

And then he kissed her again, before she had the chance to elaborate. Only this time the kiss was softer and more tender, one arm snaking around her waist to snuggle her against him, while her fingers raked through his hair and ended behind his neck, as they closed their eyes and melted into each other once again. They were lingering now, gently nibbling and brushing their swollen lips, incessantly switching from pecks to fluid-motioned kisses. Both completely bonkers for each other, totally swooning in their passionate rapture. Bruises and slits covered the surface of their mouths from their previous encounter, the cautious outlining of their tongues licking the sting away as they were caressing and smiling at each other, tears of joy glistening in her fuzzy eyes, audible rumbles of relief flaring from his nostrils.

Daryl was scandalously inexperienced in kisses, never bothered to think about this part twice in a life full of random, meaningless fucks. And Carol wasn't that skilled either, years in a loveless, dry marriage rendered her facial muscles rusty and stiff. Their lack of prowess would have been disappointed at their age, had they tried it with any other partner. But between them, it didn't even register, not even crossing their minds as a distant thought. All they knew beyond any doubt, more like a hunch nesting deep inside them rather than an actual, utterable thought, was that they had found, against any chance and hope, the one spot in the entire universe uniquely created for them, waiting for them since the dawn of time. These two underdogs, two outcasts, two victims for the greatest part of their lives, had broken free from their shackles and shone in the middle of the walker apocalypse, snatching eagerly and confidently what most people never discovered in their perfect lives even before hell broke loose, their right place in the world, in each other's arms; finally fitting, finally belonging.

And they were in the same page, now. They were floating in the skies, enjoying the ride and the view, all their former restraints wooshed away by an enormous tidal wave. In terror they realized they hadn't put on their freaking parachutes in the first place, prone to crumble apart once they hit the ground. Only they were mistaken. For there was no ground for them to crash, no dreadful precipice, no sharp summit anticipating their free fall, ready to chunk them into pieces. Only heaven. And then more heaven. Just endless heaven enveloping them in a welcoming embrace. There they were. They had reached their final destination in each other arms. Death didn't matter anymore, for there was only life lurking in the shadows. They were finally in the same page. Finally. And there was no going back.

"Did I hurt you?" he rasped with genuine concern, examining the mess he had done with her lips. He didn't really know what he meant, though. Their kiss? His previous behavior? The way he had ignored his feelings for her until it was almost too late?

Carol didn't know either. And she didn't bother to ask, because none of it mattered anymore. "No," she tried to whisper, but her voice came out husky and mumbled. Instead she cupped his face and locked eyes with him to make sure he believed her. "No."

"I'm sorry if…"

"Don't you dare," she interrupted him fervently, ignoring the still present hoarseness, shaking her head. "Don't you dare apologize for this." Whatever this was. She regretted nothing, there wasn't one single torment she wouldn't gratefully subject herself to from the beginning, if this painful path, filled with venomous thorns, had led them in that moment.

* * *

"I don't think that's the use Rick has in mind for the binoculars," Glenn scolded Maggie and Tyreese, catching them stalking shamelessly Daryl and Carol on the watch tower.

"Ssshhh," Maggie ignored him. "I've already told you I ship them and…"

"That's no reason to sneak your nose into their business. Especially after the mess you two caused I'd swear you'd learned your les…"

"Oh my God, oh my God!" Maggie exclaimed, passing the binoculars to Tyreese. "Is he kissing her? Tell me he's kissing her!"

"Either that or he's strangling her," Tyreese said, exchanging a worried look with Glenn as they both made a move to rush forward.

Maggie grabbed them both. "Simmer down, boys! No reason to ruin it again for them… I'm sure they'll work things out."

"What makes you so sure?" Glenn asked, extracting the binoculars from Tyreese to see for himself.

"'Cause if they don't and Daryl finds out what we did, I'm as good as dead," Maggie sighed.

Glenn lowered the binoculars. "I'll be damned," he muttered, before Maggie grabbed them again.

"Mmmm…" she laughed. "I bet Carol is getting pregnant right now!"

Tyreese looked confused. "I thought they were just kissing."

"Oh, they are, but with this kind of kisses you never know." Maggie giggled, tossing him the binoculars and running inside the prison. "I have an idea," she shouted.

"Come on, Maggie, no more ideas!" Glenn protested, but she had already disappeared behind the door.

* * *

"Maggie's idea?" Daryl raised his eyebrow. They were on the floor now, legs entangled, holding hands, with their backs on the wall.

"Yeah, she said she ships us hard." She had finally explained everything to him.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I have no idea…" she chuckled, avoiding his gaze. "The bottom line is that she wants us together, I guess."

He reached out his callous hand and tilted her chin to make her face him, his face burning up. "Do you?"

Carol blushed and bowed her head again. This was no time for flight, she knew this much. This was the time to fight tooth and nail. She nodded just enough for him to get the message, finally meeting his eyes again. "You?"

Her favorite crooked smile twitched in his lips, embellishing his beautiful face, lightening up his facial features. "Where is the fucking cd player when I need it?" he snorted his embarrassment.

She chuckled again. "When we go back to the cell, you choose whatever you want since I ruined it yesterday."

"And I get to lock the door too?" he nudged her with a raised eyebrow.

"You do."

A chill gust of wind made her shiver; the sweater she had tightly wrapped around her wasn't even remotely enough for the Georgian winter, but she ignored it, smile never faltering. She knew she should have brought something warmer, but by the time she fled the kitchen she couldn't get to him soon enough, grabbing a coat was really low in her list of priorities. Daryl caught it though and without any further comment he took off his leather jacket and threw it around her shoulders, making sure she was cozily wrapped into it before coaxing her in his embrace.

"What about you?" she eyed his long-sleeved shirt, the only thing standing between him and the cold now.

"I'm fine," he reassured her, the crooked smile that emerged again made her almost forget what they were talking about. And he was honest with her; he felt that the rush of their kisses in his veins could keep him warm through ten sleeveless winters.

Carol smiled to herself; she knew what people saw in him at the first sight. A redneck. A lethal hunter. An ill-mannered, prickly, ready to throw a temper bully. She also knew what people missed for not bothering to take a second, more careful look. A knight. A real gentleman. A hero ready to put his life in danger to save them.

"You ruined them both, you know," his gruff voice dragged her out of her blissful daydream. "Not just yesterday, the day before too," he sulked.

She raised an eyebrow, startled. "Really?" She had no idea. He had been trying to kiss her for two days in a row and she had no freaking idea, fully absorbed in her pathetic self-pity.

Distracted by the grating, raspy sound of an object slithering on the coarse concrete, they both turned their heads simultaneously to track the noise, only to discover a very embarrassed and lost for words head that belonged to Maggie, barely popping from the staircase, her thin arm stretched out supernaturally, looking dislocated from its socket as she tried her best to shove the cd player closer to them.

Once Daryl jumped on his feet, hurrying himself her way, Maggie tumbled haphazardly down the stairs, bantering them good-humoredly as she ran as fast away from Daryl and closer to Glenn as she could.

_"_Carol and Darylsitting in the tree  
K-i-s-s-i-n-g!  
First comes love.  
Then comes marriage.  
Then comes baby in the baby carriage,  
Sucking his thumb…" until her voice faded away.

"Mind your own business, fuckers, unless you want an arrow in your fuckin' asses!" Daryl yelled, but the amusement was evident in his voice. His eyes lingered on Tyreese for a second and the two of them conveyed everything in a quick nod.

Turning around, he saw Carol laughing wholeheartedly, patting the spot next to her for him to seat. "Problem is none of them is really afraid of me anymore," he murmured with feigned grumpiness as he crouched close to her.

"That's when they started loving you, when they stopped being afraid of you," she whispered to him adoringly, thinking of how lucky all of them were and how her sweet Sophia died believing he was the evil incarnated, never having the chance to get to know him better; the man who risked his life day after day to find her and bring her back to her momma.

He hugged her again to make sure she was warm enough and opened the cd player, glad to find that the Elvis cd from yesterday was still inside; he hated to admit that he owed Maggie a favor. "Which one?" he asked her, motioning to the marker-written tracks on the upper surface of the cd.

Carol shrugged. "Your choice, I meant it," she smiled broadly, biting her lip in anticipation and excitement.

Daryl pointed the one he thought suit them the most and she beamed at him in accordance, before he pressed the play button and settling her in his arms.

_Love me tender,  
Love me sweet,  
Never let me go.  
You have made my life complete,  
And I love you so._

"You're coming back in the cell tonight, right?" she turned to face him, kissing their interlaced fingers.

He nodded. "Of course."

_Love me tender,  
Love me true,  
All my dreams fulfilled.  
For my darlin' I love you,  
And I always will.  
_

"No more getting your stuff nonsense?" she insisted, remembering what he'd said earlier.

"No," he shook his head reassuringly, blue eyes lost in hers. "Took me long enough to get there in the first place."

_Love me tender,  
Love me long,  
Take me to your heart.  
For it's there that I belong,  
And we'll never part._

He cleared his throat and inhaled sharply, not knowing how to ask her. "Top bunk is awful, though," he rasped.

"Oh…" she was taken aback. "Wanna switch?"

Daryl shook his head again, eyeing her meaningfully. "No", he said firmly._  
_

_Love me tender,  
Love me true,  
All my dreams fulfilled.  
For my darlin' I love you,  
And I always will.  
_

Carol swallowed hard. "Wanna share mine?" she offered, holding her breath, unsure if she had interpreted him right or just pushing her luck too far.

He only nodded once and she buried her face in his collarbone, fisting the hem of his shirt with her free hand. He tightened his grip around her shoulders in response.

_Love me tender,  
Love me dear,  
Tell me you are mine.  
I'll be yours through all the years,  
Till the end of time._

"You know, I…" her voice wavered. She loved him and had no idea how to say it. Maybe Elvis could do the dirty job for her. "I… You know, right?"

It was his turn to swallow hard. "I know…" He fuckin' loved her too, like crazy. Luckily Elvis could say it better than him. "Me, too. You know too, ok?"

"Yeah."

_Love me tender,  
Love me true,  
All my dreams fulfilled.  
For my darlin' I love you,  
And I always will.  
_

The End

* * *

_Ok, give me some love now, because I don't feel very well :P_

_I hope you need a drink, or a cigarette or a cold shower after what you read… If you don't, something is seriously wrong with me! I think I gave myself a stroke describing their kiss. _

_This chapter was soooooooooo freaking challenging to write… Trying to grasp their different perspectives, but also treat them as one during the kiss… Luckily there was Maggie, simmering down the tension a bit :) I just had to throw in the cd player somehow! To say I'm in love with it is an understatement…_

_I know the description is far too dreamy :) I'm not a completely idiot, I hope, I just can't settle with anything less than perfection when it comes down to the first kiss. I'm still wondering, though… Was it Carol or Daryl the one to make the first move here? Which counts as the first kiss? I have no idea and I'm the writer…*sigh* So don't come to me for answers :)_

_I honestly hope that at first you had trouble breathing, then you got sweaty and had trouble breathing again, and in the end you laughed and smiled dreamily at your screen… If you did, I achieved my goal :)_

_Thank you all for reading and please let me know what you think… After such an exhausting to write chapter, I really hope to find your reviews there :)_

12


	18. Swim With Me

**Summary:** They are in a lake… alone… :)

_Hey, everyone! _

_Too much drama in these stories! _

_How about some Caryl fun?_

* * *

"Come on in! The water is great!"

It was hard to remain frowned and snooty when she was staring at him like this, beaming with happiness, twirling around in her red bikini as her fingertips rippled the surface of the lake, graceful as a fuckin' ballerina. Fuck Maggie and the way she coaxed him into looting that underwear store.

"There is no way to convince you to join me? Really? No way?"

Fuck. Fuck. And fuck, again. Staying focused was only getting more and more difficult around her. Carol freaking Peletier had him –_him_- wrapped around her finger and it took everything he had not to let her know what her inviting smiles and blue eyes were doing to his lust for her. His mouth had dried the moment she started unbuttoning her shirt, eyeing him meaningfully and he was consumed by a dizziness that resembled those due to dehydration, which was ridiculous and he knew it; but still. Breaths came out ragged and he had trouble keeping his eyes coordinated.

"Someone has to watch out for your skinny ass," he grumbled, voice huskier than he meant it to be.

She sighed and swam closer to the pier he was standing. "We haven't seen a walker here for over a month," she offered as she crossed her arms on the wooden boards and rested her chin on the top, nose wrinkling and azure eyes squinting against the sunlight.

He raised an eyebrow and then shook his head, scowling even more. "So?" Three rules. Time and time again he had reiterated that her survival was inextricably interwoven with three golden rules she had to adhere with religious deference. First rule, never let your guard down. Second fuckin' rule, never let your guard down. Third fuckin' rule, never, ever let your fuckin' guard down. And there she was now, almost two years later, going all we-haven't-seen-a-walker-here-for-over-a-month on him. Bullshit. "Thought I taught you better than that." Why didn't he sound furious then? Fuck. Why was his voice hoarse instead of pissed?

"Come on, Daryl," she tried again, stretching out a hand in anticipation, a twinkle of desire waltzing in her darkened pupils. "Don't leave me alone."

Her last sentence broke his heart, almost sent him reeling. All he wanted was to lunge at her like an unleashed monster and make her his, in the water, on the shore, on the pier. Fuck. The tightness of his pants was becoming too sore to ignore. "No." He tore his gaze away from her blue eyes with an effort almost too painful to bear, wincing at his wrenching gut. One hand curled into a fist, the other in a steel grip around the string of his crossbow, nails almost drawing blood from his inner struggle to control his urges.

"What if I was drowning?" She yanked backwards, her body jiggling the perfect stillness of the crystal water around her. "Wouldn't you jump in to save me?"

He hated this lake and he hated the water that enveloped her, fully embracing her, caressing every curve of her body before lapping around. It should have been his hands doing that, exploring her greedily inch by inch.

"Pfff…" He also hated her and her delicate movements and the way her fingers lingered imperceptibly on the surface and how her figure was mirroring on the water. And he hated that he was panting and his chest was clenched for no apparent reason, just because Carol freaking Peletier obviously wanted so.

She puffed her cheeks, holding her breath and disappeared dramatically under the water, frantically waving her arms above her head, the innumerable popping bubbles made it clear she was laughing underneath.

Daryl was chuckling despite himself when she resurfaced, looking at him with a huge, ear to ear, grin. "You can't drown on purpose when you know how to swim, you dumbass."

Carol winked. "I can. I will. Unless you join me," her lips twitched in a playful smirk.

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Good luck with that," he sneered and spun around, anxious to force as much distance between them as possible, the mental images of her seducing breasts squeezed in the red bra caused a growing lump in his throat, newly formed beads of sweat glistened on his skin. He would rip his clothes away and groan as a beast if he stayed there one more second, unless he gave himself a heart attack before even getting the chance to blow off some steam.

When he reached the tree line and was far enough to inhale and exhale air somewhat more steadily, he turned again, eyes scanning the lake. Not a sign of Carol anywhere. "Quit this bullshit!" he yelled and remained dead still for a few more seconds, hearkening attentively even the faintest of sounds with narrowed eyes and fixed jaw.

He started marching quickly with long, nervous strides towards the perfectly tranquil lake. _You can't drown on purpose when you know how to swim, you dumbass._ No bubbles, no crinkles jarring the sublime serenity of the water. _I can. I will. Unless you join me._ Fuck. _Yeah. Good luck with that_. What was he thinking challenging Carol freaking Peletier? If she had gone and got herself killed only to spike him, God help him; he would follow her immediately and kick her ass throughout eternity.

"Carol!" Not registering the exact moment he burst into a sprint, he heard nothing but the clogging sound of his boots echoing on the pier and his hammering heart jolting against his chest. "Carol!"

The moment his feet flew off the pier, the sound of a stifled giggle shattered his blind panic and he cussed before splashing, headfirst, in the water. Carol's head popped up beneath the pier and she ran to him cheerfully.

"Fuck you!" he screamed even before his mouth was fully emerged from the water, hands still shaking from his former angst, coughing and gasping after his clumsy diving.

Her face dropped immediately and both her hands collided with his chest to block his way. "Get away from me!" he shoved her away making sure he didn't hurt her, unruly wisps whipping his face as he jerked his head back and forth.

"Wait, wait," she mumbled in distress, desperately trying to resist his obstinate pacing to get out of the lake. "Please don't go!"

Daryl kept jostling against her until she swayed precariously and he had to grab her from the elbows to keep her upright. "Just… fuck you!" he growled again, barely concealing his relief that she was there, very much alive and warm, too warm actually. And close, too close. "What were you thinking, damn it?"

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed wide-eyed, lips pursued as if she was a child getting caught with the hands in the cookie jar.

"No, you're not," he snarled, noticing the sparkling droplets of water streaming between her breasts, momentarily forgetting what they were fighting about. There was no more rage left in him. Their faces were only inches away and he had trouble filling his lungs with air again.

She shrugged. "Ok, I'm not," she admitted, but tried to elaborate immediately under his glare. "I mean… I'm sorry that I scared you. I'm not sorry that you're here. I… I just wanted you here." Watching with mouth hanging agape the hundreds of droplets rolling down his neck only to disappear inside the collar of his sleeveless shirt now stuck soaking wet over his toned chest, she had to bite her lip to stay even ostensibly calm. "Don't you like it?" Carol hugged him, clasping her hands around his waist and planting a soft peck in the crook of his neck.

Oh, God. Another groan escaped his throat and his head tilted backwards. "It's… fine, I guess." What? Fuck. Blinking away her intoxicating sensation he tried to put his pieces together. "I can't let you get away with this shit," he stated firmly, but did nothing to disentangle himself from her embrace, arms hanging laxly by his side.

Only she was equally mesmerized by his presence, her eyes transfixed on the curves of his neck. "I was kinda hoping you could," she tugged herself even closer, voice trembling and teeth chattering.

"What? You're fuckin' cold now?" he admonished her, mentally kicking himself for his lame failure to sound angry once again. Instead, he started rubbing her back, not intensely enough to trigger any significant heat by friction, but definitely enough to feel the painful arousal in his pants once again.

He swallowed hard, making a choking sound that extracted a triumphant quirk of her lips. She was mind-fucking him and all he could do was groan like a wounded lion. Carol freaking Peletier. Ok, he would show her what Daryl fuckin' Dixon could do about that.

"I won't be if you stop fighting me and come underwater-" She started and lost her words as his callous palm cupped her nape and a fuzz of whiskers started drifting up and down the full length of her neck, the touch becoming gradually more demanding when his tongue started darting as well, licking her passionately. "It's so-" She wanted to invoke the warmth of the water again, but her voice wavered as his lips nibbled her skin and her eyes rolled.

"Hot?" he murmured.

It took her a moment to overcome his bewitching mouth and the soft bites littering her, but Carol reciprocated, sucking the saltiness of sweat mixed with water all over his chest, until the world immersed in a haze while she hastily unbuttoned his shirt to strip his torso and tossed it away, catching it with the corner of her eye as it floated nonchalantly, crumpled into a shapeless mass. Deft fingers requited immediately, unhooking her bra and she exhaled a hot breath she had no idea she was withholding right over his nipple, making his knees quiver.

"Hey, don't forget to breathe, smartass," he whispered against her pale skin.

She shivered violently as the chilly wind blew against the trail of his tongue, giving her the goosebumps. "Kiss me," she moaned feebly and the next second his mouth brutally invaded hers, claiming dominance as he pulled her deeper in the water until only their heads were above the surface; both completely surrendered and engulfed by their mutual passionate flames, scorching them inside out.

"We have to leave," he rasped inside her mouth, none of them stepping back, greedily savoring each other's taste. "It's getting late."

"Uh-huh," her hands were palpating his sternum now, one snaking around his back, grazing his bare flesh with her nails, the other tracing down his lower belly, unbuckling his belt.

"I'm serious," he repeated, lips never ungluing from hers. "We have-"

"I know. Take these off…"

It was late, if they stayed there any longer, they would lose the light in their way back. Walking in the woods in the night would be madness. Sloppy and completely irresponsible; as if they had a death wish. A skilled hunter would never get himself trapped in a situation like this. A skilled hunter in the middle of the fuckin' apocalypse would drag her out of there right that moment.

Then again, the water was really warm… And they hadn't seen a walker for over a month… And he craved for her, for Carol freaking Peletier, with an aching need; with the same tremor a sick man would beg for his cure…

"Shit, Carol…"

* * *

_That was just a little something to blow off some steam… Well it didn't work for me, what can I say?_

_**I wanted to give you a smutty moment after all the suffering I've put you through.**_

_Hope you like it!_

_Plus, I'm thinking of a celebrating chapter 20 (when did this collection reach 20 chapters?). I think that one should be about them making love for the first time :) What do you think about that? How should it be? Let's assume they have already kissed and decided to be together. Just a working hypothesis, nothing really binding…_

_Thank you for reading :) A review would be more than appreciated :)_

5


	19. The Unbearable Fear Of Losing You (p 1)

**Summary:** That was neither the day Daryl Dixon would restore his faith to God nor the one he'd cry from sheer fear, like a pussy.

_Hey, everyone!_

_Thank you all for the kind words! I know I always say the same, but you only make me all the more grateful :)_

_This chapter is a little different from the rest; hope you still like it :)_

_I don't know how to describe it… Anyway…_

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Daryl Dixon wasn't the crying or praying type. He had his fair share of suffering, abuse and heart-breaking for ten lifetimes, maybe more. He had learned soon enough and with the hard way that whining around gets you nowhere, survival meant clenching jaw, balling fists and let rage wash over pain and desperation. Expecting people to care? Naw, never happened. Hoping someone will step in and stop the torture? Same as caring. Praying to God to show you his mercy? That one was hilarious. You wanted a job done, you had to do it yourself. There was no God to help, only you. Carol was just the exception triumphantly proving the rule. Daryl Dixon had never prayed to anyone other than himself. Each time life served him shit, he prayed to himself for himself. No pious words, no interlaced fingers; just gritted teeth, pressed lips and narrowed eyes focused on the objective. He was still standing; therefore he was convinced beyond any doubt that this was the effective approach. Trial and error had proven him right.

Daryl Dixon could remember all the times he had actually cried in his adult life. First he had cried when his old man died. He hated that he couldn't fight it back despite himself, only to cry even harder for spending his tears for the bastard that had ruined him through and through. Then he had cried when he thought Merle was dead. And the last time was when Merle really died and he was the one to put him down. There could have been a fourth, deep in the tombs, as he stomped her knife repetitively against the concrete, but that was his lucky day and he actually found her before that looming breakdown consumed him completely. He definitely cried after tragedy had stricken, after having fought tooth and nail to prevent it and failed no matter what. Daryl Dixon never cried in advance, never cried in anticipation of the impending disaster, never cried from fear.

But as he buried his knife into the socket of a stray walker, squelching and splattering rotten brain matter all over his face, he felt dread freezing him to the core, suddenly drained of strength and courage. For a split second, he wasn't the redneck, badass hunter anymore; he was a little boy again, scared and helpless and he wanted to drop on his knees, praying and crying. His hands started shaking and he felt a wave of tears welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Tyreese was waiting at the entrance of the store they were scavenging, wary eyes fixed on him. "You need a minute there? I can wait in the car."

Daryl just swallowed hard the lump in his throat and clenched his jaw, trying to control the tremble in his chin. "No," he said firmly and marched purposely to the door.

That was neither the day Daryl Dixon would restore his faith to God nor the one he'd cry from sheer fear, like a pussy.

* * *

It had started with Beth. Out of nowhere, the girl had given them a good scare, when she spiked a fever that nailed her on her bunk for almost a week. Hershel had no idea what was wrong; the symptoms were not really enlightening, pointing nowhere. Just high fever, extreme exhaustion and anorexia was all. They had all worked closely together to overcome the hurdle, that's what they always did, that's where the power they possessed as a group sprung from. Only Carol did more than required to pull her weight, as usual. Every night shift was on her and, peering in Beth's cell after returning from watch duties, Daryl could see her bent over Beth, caring, restless and worried. He wanted to protest about it, but had no idea what to say and how to say anything at all when his eyes crossed hers and he could clearly make out the tension in her features.

Beth was afebrile for less than twenty four hours when Carl came down with whatever that thing was, following her lead. Carol had just retired for her first night rest in a week and had practically passed out when a very distraught Rick woke her up in panic. The same drill was resumed. Daryl was so scared for Carl and so mad at everyone for letting Carol take up all the hard parts, he didn't know what to do with himself. Finally, he pursued his lips and dragged her outside Carl's cell noticing she could hardly stand anymore, spiting in her face that she was a stubborn dumbass with a death wish and would only end up getting sick as well. She had admitted easily she was dead on her feet but her blue eyes, barely discernible under the black circles engulfing them, had sparkled imperceptibly when she added that his concern was charming. Daryl bolted immediately and refused to speak to her for two days in a row. Carl's health took a turn to better a few days later.

He knew it. When she stated softly she didn't have the appetite to eat dinner and just wanted to go to her bunk, he simply knew it. The first thing he noticed when he woke up the next morning was the perfect silence the prison was immersed in. This was when his heart started racing. The usual welcoming sound each time his eyes fluttered opened, right after dawn, was the stifled clinging of pans and kettles from the kitchen; Carol making breakfast. He would join her right after, still yawning and groggy and they'd spent a few minutes enjoying each other's comfortable company, before the rest of the prison population stirred and popped in one by one. This schedule had remained intact even during Beth's and Carl's sickness, at least when he wasn't mad at her. He tumbled down the stairs only to find a very frowned and concerned Hershel leaning over her. Carol kept staring at him, but he didn't cast as much as a peek towards her.

"What do you need?" he asked Hershel as the older man went through their stash of medication.

"Anything, really. Antibiotics, painkillers, vitamins… We're running low on everything."

Daryl cussed under his breath. They had almost plenty of everything before Beth and Carl fell sick and now they didn't have enough to treat Carol. "Make a list. I'll come get it in ten minutes."

When Tyreese and he returned from the run it was almost evening. They had to drive for hours to find anything helpful. Everyone was fussing around her cell and he had avoided approaching anywhere around there like she was the devil, although he kept lurking in the hallway, close enough to distinguish her comforting reassurances to everyone, prompting them not to worry about her too much as she'd be back on her feet in no time. But he knew better than that. She was too worn out after days of minimum resting hours and constant mal nutrition, too busy taking care of everyone else to look after herself. He felt like an idiot too. Instead of lashing out at her, he should have simply offered to take over some of the innumerable tasks she was swamped with.

When she emerged from her cell, knees buckling from the effort to walk alone and they locked eyes, a smile brightened up her face. She swayed, Maggie and Beth close on her heels with arms spread out to catch her in case she staggered. Daryl had heard her adamant persistence to walk on her own and glared them both for letting her have it her way.

"There you are at last. I was worried sick about you and Tyreese," she offered cheerfully.

He snorted at the irony and closed the distance between them, grabbing her arm to lead the way. "I don't want your help, Daryl. What are my chances to seduce you if I can't take my feet?" she laughed and he felt his face turning tomato red when Maggie and Beth both burst into giggling.

He knew where they were headed. Hershel's orders; cold showers at least twice a day to help with the fever. Once there, Daryl simply watched the three feminine figures disappear behind the door and felt his stomach churning from the overwhelming feeling that he was left on the wrong side of the wall. He registered attentively every hushed conversation, the sound of the flowing water, the squeaky spinning of the fauchet's valve, the stifled moan, the hastily approaching steps and he knew for sure that something was wrong seconds before Beth swung the door open, shooting him a wide-eyed look. Not waiting for an explanation, he stormed in the showers to find Carol all cleaned and dressed in new clothes kneeled on the floor, shivering violently, a nervous Maggie holding her from the waist. Once again, he said nothing, ignored the nausea that claimed him and lifted her up bridal style like she was a feather, scowling at the weakness that forced her to comply, begrudgingly but easily.

"Admit that you always wanted to do that again. That time in the tombs simply wasn't enough for you," she muttered in his neck, feverish skin accompanied with hot breath burning him inside out.

"Shut up or I swear I'll kick your ass right now," he growled, too scared to play along with her taunting.

That first night passed with him tossing and turning in his bunk, sleep evading him mercilessly, staring at the ceiling, hearkening every little sound escaping from Carol's cell, where Beth spent the night with her.

The second day, she was obviously worse, laid up for good this time. Daryl kept pacing impatiently the length of her cell trying his best not to punch the wall, hardly speaking to her, unless it was to accuse her for negligence and poor judgment. Carol was asleep when Maggie took over the night shift from Hershel, but Daryl sent her to rest, making it crystal clear he intended to spend the night there. Alone. When Maggie was persuaded to leave, he sat next to her bunk, unable to tear his gaze away from her face.

He had no idea what was wrong with him, but he wanted to puke again, unable to handle the twist in his gut or his tightened chest, and cry like a baby. When she started shivering in her sleep, he shuffled the blanket closer around her and rubbed her arms fervently. At some point he just threw an arm around her, hoping it would work some kind of miracle against her creepy twitching that made his blood freeze. He was just snoozing when he felt delicate fingers raking the unruly wisps of his hair. Had the place and the overall situation been slightly different, this gesture would have felt like the most comforting lullaby he had ever savored. He shot his eyes open and rested his head on the back of his hand over her belly, only to meet a set of blue, blurry eyes fixed on him.

"Your back must be killing you," she whispered, stirring beneath his weight, but when he moved to get up, her fingers curled around his shoulder to keep him pinned.

Daryl blinked his dizziness away. "How are you?"

"Don't worry too much."

"You're cold?" he ignored her comment.

Carol's lips quirked upwards. "It's better with you draped around me."

"I bet it is," he snorted, but her favorite crooked smile cracked all over his face.

"Have you been taking advantage of me?" She was teasing him openly now.

Daryl chuckled. "Never crossed my mind."

"Liar," she sneered. "I bet you always wanted to get me alone in a bed."

He raised an eyebrow, determined to play along if that'd make her happy. "Well, that ain't what I had in mind."

"I know," she frowned. "Me neither. Sucks, doesn't it?"

"You're just playing hard to get, is all," he offered and his heart jolted when her face beamed.

"That's your part," she admonished him playfully.

He reached for her water bottle and sliding an arm under her nape, he propped her up enough to dribble a few sips of liquid through her parched lips. After that he tugged the clean cloth Maggie had left hanging from the rail pipe and drenched it, then placed it on her forehead and drew backwards, almost weeping from joy at the sound of her relieved moans.

Carol chuckled. "Holy moly, is Daryl Dixon nursing me?"

"You have him all up and running, ain't you?" he sulked.

"Pics or it didn't happen," she slurred, already dozing off.

Daryl squeezed her hand. "Get better, ok?"

"Don't worry too much, ok?" And then she was fast asleep.

The third day they couldn't wake her up and he threw a shit storm of temper over her slumping frame, adamantly commanding her to drink some water between swearing and kicking every little piece of furniture in her cell. She had obeyed the best she could, meeting his furious gaze only for a moment through squinty, drooping eyes before slipping back into a comatose unconsciousness that scared the shit out him. When he continued ranting, Hershel and Maggie practically kicked him out of her cell, the former warning him never to underestimate what he was capable of with his crutch. Daryl came back a while later, seemingly more composed, swallowing down his rage. He declared he was there to carry Carol to the shower with a tone that left no leeway for negotiations, engaging in a glaring contest with both of them, but slouched in a chair and remained silent nonetheless. That night he didn't even consider resting for a while, desperately trying to cool off her skin and comfort the raging fever that penetrated her body. At some point, Carol opened her eyes to find him spread around her once again, darkened eyed digging holes on her face.

"What's wrong with these people?" she mumbled despite the chattering of her teeth. "Leaving me all alone with a guy?"

"They hover all around you all day long," he reassured her, placing a hand onto her burning cheek.

She smirked, satisfied. "I know, I'm a real sweetheart."

"A pain in the ass is what you are," he drawled.

"Yeah, that too." Carol eyed him carefully through half-opened eyes. "You look like shit," she stated dryly and extracted a smile for the word she had just blurted out.

"Sleeping in a chair does that to a man," he shrugged, attempting to laugh it off. "And you look like shit too."

"Seems like you lost your chance to screw around with me," she stared at him with a dead serious expression in her gaze.

"I'm still here, ain't I?" he hissed, reciprocating the expression immediately as her words slapped him in the face.

They both remained silent, eyes locked, for a few seconds before Carol broke the tensed atmosphere with a laugh. "You know there's no way I'll forget you said that, right?"

"Believe me, I do," he huffed.

"Go get some rest. I'll be fine tomorrow, I promise."

"I know you will, I still owe you a good kick in the ass," he agreed, not moving an inch.

Carol sighed. "But you're staying anyway."

"I am."

"Hershel's orders too?"

"Mine. Not the type who's getting orders from anyone."

"Be careful, Daryl, I might think you have a thing for me."

"Get some shut eye, smartass."

The fourth day they didn't even bother trying to talk her. She was burning up in fever, slipping in and out of consciousness, mumbling unfathomable words; the one most commonly uttered resembled a lot like his name and he was heaving, clenching his jaw to ignore Maggie's concerned gaze darting on him. He just carried her to the showers and waited outside with his head buried in his hands until Maggie had cleaned her up and called him to get her back to her cot. Rick had come to tell him they were almost running out of meat and he just nodded, fastening his crossbow around his shoulder and immersing into the woods, cussing under his breath. Reappearing after six hours with nothing more than a few squirrels he savagely thrust on the kitchen floor and shooting Rick a murderous glare were all the hints required to convey hands down that he was in no position to hunt at least until Carol's fate was revealed.

Rick was biting his lip. "How are you holding?"

Daryl winced and Rick lifted a hand to interrupt him.

"I'm only asking because Carol…"

"Carol is gonna be just fine, Rick!" Daryl barked. "And I'm fine! How are _you_ holding?"

Rick bowed his head. It was his fault, really. Openly offering compassion to Daryl Dixon; what was he thinking? He knew better than that.

"Sit with me," he offered again, motioning towards a chair. "Grab some dinner."

"Can't. Have to get Carol for a shower."

"I did. A couple of hours ago."

The new glare he received forced him to elaborate. "She was burning up. We thought it might help."

Daryl was holding his breath. "Did it?"

Rick shook his head, eyes darting around. Daryl sprawled in a chair, threading his fingers through his hair, looking like he was run over by a truck.

"There has to be a doctor alive somewhere in this fuckin' shit," he finally bellowed his frustration.

"Get some rest tonight. Glenn or I will stay with her. Or Michonne. She volunteered."

"No." This was not a response. It was a snarl.

"You have to rest, Daryl, this group needs you," Rick kept pushing.

"Well, I need…" his voice wavered just in time to not cry out her name, but they both knew. "No one's dying without meat for a couple of days, Rick," he went on, a little calmer now. "Just let me be." The last sentence came out more as a plea.

Their leader finally shrugged. "Didn't think it would work anyway," he confessed. "It was Carol's idea; talk you into sleeping in your cell tonight. Told her it wouldn't work, she wanted me to try anyway."

"She was awake?" Daryl suddenly felt intrigued by the conversation.

That moment Maggie entered the kitchen, holding a plate; food seemed intact inside it.

"Only for a bit," Rick explained. "Worrying about everyone else as always."

"What else did she say?"

Maggie joined the conversation, gritting her teeth to sound as casual as possible. "That she'd tell you to give me a good spank if I don't rest a bit. She also complained that you keep sneaking in her cell every night which is very inappropriate for a single lady and that she'd need someone else to defend her honor tonight."

They all chuckled despite themselves.

"Fuckin' woman."

Maggie's face sank again. That wasn't the only thing Carol had said. During her clarity she had made both her and Rick promise that if her condition deteriorated significantly, they wouldn't let Daryl anywhere close to her and they'd make sure to hold him together. How they would do either of these things, they had no idea. Not that they were anywhere close on giving up on her. She was just very sick right now. Maggie shared a guilty look with Rick and Daryl caught the exchange, but she continued before he had the chance to ask.

"Daryl, daddy said we can't keep bumping her up with pills if she doesn't eat anything."

He sighed, grabbed the plate, spun around and disappeared.

When he reached her cell, he did his best to ignore her paleness and the sweaty droplets lingering on her skin. He only wrapped her cozily inside her blanket and cradled her in his arms, resting his back against the wall of her bunk. Carol didn't open her eyes, only recognized the earthy scent radiating off his toned body.

"Daryl…" she whispered faintly.

The moment her lips parted he started forcefully shoveling food in her mouth. She squirmed and whimpered, but his embrace was unyielding.

"Chew. Now," he growled in her ear. "Chew or I swear I'll kill you myself. How dare you do this to me? Chew." He watched her jaw moving slowly up and down. "Swallow," he ordered. "Now."

Half an hour later he was displaying the plate to Hershel. Five bites. Five bites and three sips of water. That was all he managed to shove down her throat.

"That's all I made her eat. Is that enough? At least for this round?"

Hershel nodded. "I think it is, son."

Daryl chucked the plate on the table. "I'm going back," he grumbled blankly and no one dared to ask where back was.

That was the first night he had ever slid under her covers, to share the same mattress with her and hold her close while she was sleeping. His lips brushed on her skin and he snuggled her against his chest to make sure she wasn't slipping away. When her fingers fisted around the hem of his shirt, he only tightened his grip around her, tugging her even closer.

That was the first night in his adult life Daryl Dixon cried from fear. When she started shivering again despite the covers and his embrace, he allowed the stinging tears to roll down freely from the corner of his eyes, dampening the pillow beneath him. He only crashed her between his body and his chin to stifle the sobs shuddering him, not having a clue what else to do to keep her alive.

That was the first night since he had any recollection of himself that Daryl Dixon prayed to God, or whatever existed out there. He prayed for help, because he was powerless. He prayed for courage, because he was terrified. He prayed for hope, because he was desperate. He prayed for more time with the precious weight burning up in his arms, because he needed her.

_To be continued..._

* * *

_Maybe I'm crying a little...Or there's something in my eye…_

_I just can't get over his interactions with Carol :)_

_What I think is somewhat different with this chapter is that I wanted to write it in a more plain way. Since it was clearly focused on Daryl, I tried to keep the writing style more clear and brief, avoiding extremely long sentences, which I usually adore, and lyrical descriptions, which I adore even more._

_Ok, what do you think? Did you like this attempt?_

_Thank you all for reading :) A review would be much appreciated :)_

9


	20. The Unbearable Fear Of Losing You (p 2)

**Summary:** That day was neither the day Daryl Dixon would cry from relief nor the day he'd pray his gratitude to the universe. Because his entire existence had been nothing but a fuckin' joke.

_Hey, everyone!_

_I have nothing to say, I'm too exhausted writing this chapter :) Why? You will find a looong explanation in the end!_

_Forgive me for not answering back to most of you for a while, I promise I'll do my best to catch up :)_

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Daryl Dixon had stayed up all night, staring at the top bunk, doing the inconceivable; but crying and praying like a pussy had led him nowhere. She was still there, slumped all over his left side, burning up relentlessly; he felt his own flesh on fire, as if he was in direct contact with a furnace. God didn't exist, nothing did actually. And his hands were tied. He could do nothing to save her, just didn't know how. And she wasn't helping, probably too excited to meet her daughter again to waste as much as a thought to him. No one had heard. No one had helped him.

Inhaling sharply and holding the air inside him, he rubbed his face with the back of his unoccupied hand, the other momentarily tightening the grip around her shoulders. When he opened his eyes again, grim determination was spread all over his features, tensing each muscle of his face.

He rolled her over and allowed him a last moment of weakness to take in her face for what he was certain was his last chance. By the time he'd be back, Carol would no way be alive.

"Time for me to go now," he whispered against her pale skin, planting a soft kiss on her forehead, eyes dry. He wanted to say he was sorry, he wanted to say goodbye, he wanted to say that there were a thousand things he wished he had done differently, but he said nothing more. Because Daryl Dixon was done crying. Daryl Dixon was done praying.

He walked away, not casting another glance behind, lips pressed in a firm line. He should have known better; his whole life had built him to know better than to allow that flickering beam of hope to creep inside him last night.

That day was neither the day Daryl Dixon would cry from relief nor the day he'd pray his gratitude to the universe. Because his entire existence had been nothing but a fuckin' joke.

* * *

Rick's gloomy expression said pretty much everything to every one of them.

"He's going on a hunting trip. Said he'll be gone for a week."

After that simple announcement, he just bowed his head and got back to the yard, ignoring the gasps and the questions that haunted his bleary steps. With Carol's sickness, the overall situation was getting impossible to handle and Daryl wasn't the type of man to be patronized and manipulated, even if Rick had only the best of intentions.

"How do you measure strength, son?"

Hershel stood in front of him as he loaded the truck with the necessary equipment, kind eyes seeing right through him. Daryl's jaw hardened; he had neither the time nor the mood for this shit.

"Sure it's muscle," Hershel went on solemnly when he didn't respond. "But is that all there is? Because this alone can only explain half of us being here," he added pointedly, swinging one of his crutches.

Daryl glared at him, chucking the tent for his camping in the back, but Hershel didn't blink.

"Who do you think is the strongest person here? The one that overcame the most horrible loss?"

If he was asked a week ago, he'd know the answer. Carol. They all suffered the losses of their beloved ones; family, wives, brothers, sisters, friends. But they all knew and silently acknowledged that nothing could even begin to resemble the demise of a child.

Daryl was done talking, though. And he was done hoping. Hope was of no worth, for in the end you were left crippled and alone; he knew first-handed and wasn't going down this path again, regardless of the wise clichés Hershel was spitting in his face.

"I had to put down my brother. Ain't sticking around here long enough to do the same with her," he grumbled and resumed his monotonous activity.

"She's not dead yet."

"She will be. Soon," he stated blankly.

"Or she'll be better," Hershel offered.

Daryl snorted. He really didn't want to be rude to the old man, but he was making it really hard for him.

"Have a little faith in God's power, son. And in her," the old vet pleaded with him.

"Faith is a bitchy illusion, doc!" he snarled right in his face. "And Carol is as good as dead already. Nothing for me to wait around here."

He stepped back and narrowed his eyes. "Best go hunt some meat to keep your bellies full," Daryl sputtered bitterly and watched Hershel's back walking away without another word.

Most of them tried to mind-fuck him into staying, but ended up retreating with their tails between their legs like whipped mongrels. Maggie had cried and begged him to wait and he lashed out at her, calling her and her hopes the epitome of foolishness, yelling that he had no idea how all these idiots had stayed alive for so long. Rick hadn't come anywhere close to him and Daryl respected that.

The last one who jogged to him right when he jumped in the truck and turned on the engine was the one least expected.

"I was pissed at you," Beth hissed, holding onto the side mirror to stop him from driving away.

Daryl's eyes darted far in the horizon.

"When you went off with your brother," she elaborated, "I was pissed at you."

He was seriously thinking about barreling over her. He was suffocating, the urge to get away from this fuckin' place jolted in his veins. _She_ was there, dying. _He_ had to leave.

But Beth was determined to make him listen to every single word she had to tell him. "She wasn't. She told me you have your code and that this world needs men like you."

Daryl cocked his head and glanced at her sideways. "You're a kid. You dunno jack about this shit," he growled.

"I believed her!" Beth exclaimed.

"Well, you know better now; consider this a free lesson," he scoffed bitterly.

"I know she was wrong," Beth retorted instantly, "'cause you're leaving her again. This is a shitty code of yours."

She pulled her hands and the next moment the truck was heading to the gate.

They could all think and say whatever they wanted; in the end of the day, he didn't give a shit. He had already buried her once. He wasn't going to do this again, for real this time. Sure God was a whacko with a very twisted sense of humor to subject him twice through the same plight. And these people kept jabbering to him about how he treated Carol and how he should have faith. Fuck them. Fuck them all. Even Carol.

Didn't any of them know any better than trusting blindly faith by now? Faith… Pfff… Carol used to have faith and it was ridiculous what a disservice it had done to her.

He stepped on the throttle again, anxious to get to the gate sooner rather than later and hit the road, devouring mile after mile until he was as far away of them as possible, in a distance where he would be unattainable to his own grief for her. That was the right method, the survival mode. He would left her behind and figure out a way to survive. Daryl almost wanted to gloat his smugness.

Merle would agree.

Once this thought wormed into his numb mind, he slammed the brakes in a flash, nearly sending himself over the windshield. A squeaky sound echoed in the prison yard as the truck came to a standstill no more than fifty feet from the gate, churning up a cloud of dust.

_Merle would agree. _

Checking through the rear view mirror, he saw the group gathered at the prison entrance, staring at the truck.

_Merle would agree._

What did Merle know about this group? About companionship? About relying onto each other? What did Merle know about Carol? Other that she was a late bloomer? What did Merle know about Carol and him?

_Merle would agree._

Merle had left from their house and abandoned a little and frightened Daryl in their father's hands because he was afraid he'd kill the bastard. He left this group and got himself killed, because he was afraid of the new chance they offered him, the clean or semi-clean slate to start over. Merle always left. All his miserable, lonely life, he just turned his back and bolted. And it was the first time in his life Daryl knew the reason; it struck him like a tidal wave.

_Merle would agree._

Merle always left, because Merle was always afraid. Of people. Of people that might care. He was all bravado and feisty bullying, but the thought of letting someone in froze him to the core, afraid that caring and loving would serve him like a Trojan horse, ripping his guts inside out. So he left. Every single time he felt a twitch in his veins that wasn't pure resentment, he ran for the hills.

_Merle would agree._

That's why he had confronted the Governor alone that day, he'd rather die to help his brother, than stay, work his ass out to become a fully functional member of their group and expose himself to kindness. Merle didn't believe in kindness. He believed that people hurt you unless they need something from you.

_Merle would agree._

But Daryl knew better than this.

_Merle would agree._

Because Merle had never seen anyone the way he saw Carol. And no one had ever looked at Merle the way Carol looked at him.

_Merle would agree. _

Because in the end of the day, no matter what, Merle still had no one else to count on except Merle. Even though he loved Daryl with his own twisted way, Merle could only depend on Merle.

_Merle would agree._

And despite Daryl's haze, it suddenly dawned on him that that was exactly why he couldn't leave. He couldn't leave Carol alone. And then there was something else there too… It wasn't as selfless and altruistic as he'd like it to be. It was also him. _He_ couldn't leave her. _He_ already missed her and he was less than three hundred feet away from her. He realized now and he winced at the epiphany that, even if he left he would come back, running to her side like a wet puppy in less than a couple of hours probably, assuming he'd be stubborn enough to deny his feelings for that long. It was terrifying and confusing, the most incongruous experience he had ever had; what he felt for her was at once the most selfish and the most selfless feeling of his life. He needed to be with her, because _she_ needed him; he needed to be with her, because _he_ needed her too. Because he loved her and he wanted to invest in that; to rely on her, to let her rely on him. Even if it was for one last time.

He just turned off the engine and stooped over the wheel, opening the driver's door to allow some fresh air to flood in and clean his mind. The die was cast, then.

Daryl stumbled out of the car, his knees buckling from the dead weight of the moment. He needed to blow off some steam or his head would explode, so he only peered sideways towards the group and marched with long, determined strides to the tombs, crossbow ensnared into a steel grip. As he entered the place, he clearly heard the clogging sound of the sheriff's boots in his tail.

"Where are the fuckin' walkers, Rick?" he screamed storming through the walker free corridors, clinking his crossbow against the bars to attract as many of them as possible.

"There are no walkers left here." Rick's voice was concerned, but composed.

"What?" Daryl growled, the wheels in his mind twirling frantically, wrath was mincing him through and through.

"Merle cleaned this place…"

It seemed impossible to register anything. He knew, of course, he already knew. Only it was too much. He fuckin' needed to kill something or he might just end up killing himself.

"Fuuuuck!" he roared like a wounded lion, rage radiating off his body, fists clenched.

It started with a furious kick on the cell bars that paralyzed his leg and in a flash, before Rick had a chance to react and stop him, his fingers curled around the cold steel and he bashed his head on the bars with every ounce of strength that was left in him. The world went spinning as he staggered back, trying to muster his vigor in order to lunge forwards again, but strong arms grabbed him from behind and he collapsed on the ground over Rick. It was their leader who landed hard on his back with a thump, minimizing the impact of the collision for him.

Daryl squirmed and wriggled like a trapped beast to release himself, but Rick had him detained in an unbreakable clutch.

"Hold it together, Daryl! Hold it together!" he ordered firmly.

After a while of pointless fighting, Daryl's body slackened and Rick freed him. He rolled over and crawled on the ground, finally reaching a wall, tipping his head against it. Both men were panting.

"Fuck, Rick. Just fuck!" he bellowed his desperation. "What am I supposed to do? What…" What if she died? He buried his face in his hands. The mere thought was enough to kill him.

Rick shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "You can only wait now. And be strong. For both of you."

"Fuck, Rick. I almost left!" he groaned.

Daryl's voice was broken, his face distorted in pain, but his eyes remained wide and dry.

Rick stood up with great effort; the burden of the group's safety claimed its toll on him with every passing day, even after his reemergence from plunging into madness. He offered a hand to Daryl's hunched figure.

"Come on," he said simply. "Time to go back."

Daryl's head snapped at the words and he swallowed hard, locking eyes with Rick for the first time. He clasped his hand into his and their nails turned white as he heavily dragged himself off the cement floor.

"Yeah," he nodded once on his feet, a gloomy acknowledgment in his expression. "Better get back."

The next thing he noticed was a stern snatch on his shoulder guiding the way.

* * *

He slipped under the covers again, resting on his left side at the edge of the bunk, not touching her. He wanted to hold her like he had last night, but today he was too afraid to try anything like that, convinced that she'd vanish the moment he laid a fingertip on her; so he just settled with staring at her closed eyelids, counting her shallow breaths, wondering how the fuck she looked so fuckin' serene on the verge of dying. This was how he finally drifted into a catnap, too spent and exhausted from days of anguish and insomnia to resist the overwhelming darkness, too frightened and desperate to pass out in what could be considered a restful sleep. He had no idea how long it had been when he opened his eyes again and he faced her staring back at him through squinty eyes only to shut his again right away, convinced that her being awake was another nightmare his tortured mind had in store for him. But when he felt a light touch lingering on his waist, this nightmare just seemed all too real.

"Hey," she smiled, eyes dented, but gaze clear.

He blinked. And then he blinked again, holding his breath.

Carol's smile never faltered. "You again."

Daryl tried to keep track of their surroundings. How many hours had passed? It was barely noon when he came in, he recalled Maggie and Hershel entering at some point, he helped them force some pills down her throat, but everything was misty and fuzzy in his brain… Now the cell was immersed in the yellow, cozy light of the kerosene lamp; it was night.

And she was awake, right? "You sound disappointed," he smiled back, trying to shove away his confusion.

"Naw… I could do worse."

He placed the back of his palm on her forehead to verify what he already knew. "You're better," he stated plainly, exhaling a huge amount of air as he fisted his shaking hand and placed it on his hips once again.

"I think the fever just broke at some point," she muttered groggily.

Daryl felt his heart skipping beats. She was better, chances were she wasn't dying anymore, but there he was caught lying in her bed, guilty and embarrassed as fuck. "I have to call Hershel," he fidgeted, avoiding her gaze, but her weak grip kept him pinned on the mattress.

"It's the middle of the night," she whispered. "Just stay here with me."

He nodded, relaxing again.

"Unless you wanna leave," she offered him a getaway. She always did. And always would.

Daryl said nothing, just locked eyes with her, chewing his lip to figure out what to do next. She was there, that was a given. And he was left speechless, because deep down he had effectively argued and persuaded himself that he'd never get to meet her eyes again. It had only been forty-eight hours since the last time he had spoken to her; it felt longer; it felt like a lifetime. And a huge lump was growing in his throat. She was there.

Her lips pursued mischievously. "Are you pissed at me?"

"You have no idea," he grunted. He had trouble controlling his voice, it came out really hoarse; and he had trouble breathing and swallowing, as well; something was blocking his airway.

"Even if I almost died?" Her eyes narrowed despite the playfulness. It was evident she was exploring him, trying to decipher the signs he sent.

Daryl felt his body shuddering at the thought. "Who said you almost died?" he admonished her. "Just buying yourself some time to avoid get your ass kicked."

He had, actually. The way he acted around her every time she was awake these last few days screamed that she was on the brink of death. But the last intention Carol had at the moment was to corner him and scare him away, so she just let it drop. "Did it work?"

"Nope." What had happened to him? He was happy she was okay, why was his voice coming out so husky?

Something was off with him, she could tell. Interpreting Daryl was not a piece of cake, but she had her fair share of practice. "Oh, well, at least I got you in my bed," she winked.

Daryl was staring at her incredulously. She was there. And he had almost left. Had he passed through the fuckin' gate, she would have woken up and he wouldn't be there.

"I had an armory full of tricks to lure you in here. Something would work eventually," she mused, grinning satisfied. Her hand had moved upwards now, wandering on his arm.

He rubbed his face with his hand. Thank God. Thank God she was here. Thank God the first thing she did after waking up was to taunt him mercilessly. Thank God she was laughing again. He was conflicted, torn in two on whether she should or shouldn't know about what he tried in the morning, but at least she was there. Thank God.

Carol went on. "I'll be ready to screw around any day now." But her gaze never missed even the slightest change in his expression.

He raised an eyebrow, coughing to clear his throat. "I'll be waiting." He surprised himself by how well he could keep up with her teasing, regardless his trembling chin.

She chuckled. "I'm not kidding, Daryl."

"Me neither, Carol," he mimicked the playfulness of her tone and expression, but his voice was still thick with emotion.

It was rare, but she had no idea what to say next. He was joking and smirking, but his expression was in sharp contrast with the look in his eyes and the sound of his husky voice. If she didn't know any better, she would swear he was fighting back tears.

"Seems like these night visits destroyed your reputation for good around here. You won't be able to find a decent man now," he went on, but his crooked smiled faltered miserably.

Carol lifted an eyebrow, her fingertips tracing his face, threading through his unruly wisps. "So you're stuck with me."

"Looks like I am," he muttered, barely able to finish his sentence.

Daryl grabbed the hand that was caressing his hair and examined it for a while as if he had never seen one ever before, aware of her weary gaze drifting on his face. He finally interlaced their fingers and placed them on his chest, so she could feel his hammering heart beneath. "You know I loaded the truck to go for a hunting trip this morning," he blurted out flatly.

The fan of her eyelashes fluttered in disbelief. Startled was an understatement for the way she felt. Nostrils flared and face twitched as if she couldn't process the information. "Why?"

Again? He would leave her again? Just like that? Not knowing if she'd be alive or dead by the time he was back?

He shrugged, keeping his eyes downcast, hating the way her warm hand suddenly felt like ice in his. "You know why."

"You wanted to get away?" she gasped. "From me?"

Daryl finally met her gaze only to be punched in the gut by her hurt blue eyes. "I didn't even make it to the gate," he rasped, painfully grinding his teeth.

"Why?" she mumbled chokingly, her voice ringing like a moan.

"You know why," he reiterated stubbornly like a poem.

That was not the answer she was waiting for. It wasn't… clear enough. She couldn't bear any more mixed signals from him; she was heaving now, breaths coming out ragged.

"Hey, easy… Calm down," he said, almost in panic with her reaction. He shuffled closer, cupped her face with his free hand and wiped stray tears away, his brow furrowed in grave concern. She was still too sick for this kind of shit.

"This isn't funny anymore, Daryl," her voice nothing more than a whisper. "Why didn't you go?"

"I couldn't fuckin' leave you," he drawled almost groaning his suffering, his gaze burning holes in her face.

That? Yes. That was clear enough.

And then she was all over him, their chests collided; an arm snaked around his neck. "Open your mouth," a hot breath commanded and his lips parted instantly only to be met with hers into a greedy, less than perfect but more than divine kiss.

When she pulled back out of breath, she beamed at him through eyes glistening with unshed tears. "That makes two of us," she sniffled.

Daryl kissed her again, his tongue swept shyly in her mouth to savor her, the declaration that she fought to live because she couldn't leave him tightened his chest forcefully. "Looks like we got a fighter here, ain't we?" he gruffed, wondering if the sound of his voice would ever go back to normal.

All he wanted was to puke again, like he had all the days before, but this time for entirely different reasons. He wanted to puke because her kisses had knotted his stomach beyond any reasonable sense and the feeling was exhilarating; if he had a parallel he could relate to, a past experience of such a transcendental floating, he might have identified it as happiness; simple, plain happiness.

"Did I scare you?"

That simple question completely did him in. If she had scared him? No, he only felt he died a thousand deaths watching her slipping away from him.

He suddenly burst into a violent sobbing with a ferocity he didn't know was lurking inside him, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. Carol said nothing, she had guessed this was coming a while ago; she only tugged him tightly against her frame and let him bury his face in the crook of her neck until his breakdown ebbed away, both clinging on to each other like a lifeline.

That was the first night in his adult life Daryl Dixon cried from relief. Relief that she was there. Relief that he had made the right choice than morning. He allowed his salty tears to stream between them, mixing up with their kisses. He cried from relief and let her wipe the droplets away with her lips, wiping her own with his. And instead of feeling like a pussy as she cooed him adoringly, he felt proud of himself. He visualized Merle sneering in disgust at his weakness, but Daryl only sobbed harder for Merle's ignorance and for his own luck to experience such sublime bravery next to her. Till that moment, he had no idea how different tears of joy and relief tasted.

That was the first night since he had any recollection of himself that Daryl Dixon prayed from gratitude, to express his thankfulness and his lifelong debt to whoever had heard and responded to his last night's agonized pleas. Because whatever God or almighty deity wandered out there, his blind panic had been heard. Because she was still there, alive. Because she let him unload the unbearable burden tucked inside him without wincing at his raw pain. Because she whispered words of comfort and understanding to him. Because she was kissing and stroking him and that was all he needed to keep forcing one foot in front of the other. Hell, even be happy.

_The end_

* * *

_Ok, let me explain. The Unbearable Fear Of Losing You was supposed to be a one-shot. And the worst part is that I tried my best to make it a really tight one. It was Daryl, afraid of losing Carol, going through a torrent of emotions, focused on how fear and despair can kneel down the strongest of men. My device for unraveling it and then wrapping it up was the crying and praying part. So, in the end, with him giving up every resistance, knocking down every wall and surrendering unconditionally in his grief, the story came full-circle. _

_And then… There you are all you wonderful people asking for more. And I'm so honored that you even bother reading my stories that of course I wanted to give you a happy ending. Only I had no idea how to untie the wrap I had made. I didn't want the second part to be rushed and just a simple narrative continuation of the previous one. I wanted it to be an integral part of it, as if this story was originally meant to be a two-shot. I racked my mind to the point that I couldn't sleep trying to come up with something I wouldn't regret posting… So, I just hope it's decent and you like; it really had very limited potential for a continuation :)_

_As for the writing style… You have definitely given me food for thought :) _

_Also, this was chapter 20, which means that sex for first time between them is currently off the table. _

_I also updated my profile, if any of you is interested :)_

_Thank you all for reading :) You all know how much I adore the feedback. A little review would only make me happy :)_

11


	21. First Time

**Summary:** It's their first time. Both of them want it. Neither of them has a clue what to do. "Let's make love."

_Hey, everyone!_

_I hope you have all found my gratitude expressed in your inbox :) _

_Thank you, seriously! I loved your reactions at the previous chapter :) Opinions were shared, everyone liked a different part more, but your reviews were more than kind, as always._

_Meet me again around 4,000 words later :)_

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Her senses caught up immediately with two things when he entered her cell. First, he was reeking of whiskey; not a stench exactly, but the odor was there. Second, half of his thumbnail was long gone.

Carol was fidgeting. They exchanged a glance and their gazes darted anywhere but on each other in a flash.

"You're drunk?" The inattentive, nervous scratching of the inner part of her elbow almost chafing the first layer of her skin.

"Not drunk enough," he grumbled, reaching out to block the afflicting pain hand before it tore her flesh open, immediately taking a step back afterwards.

Daryl's eyes sought for hers again to prove his honesty and it was evident in their cerulean clarity that, wherever the bottle was dumped, there was still some booze undulating inside. He had tried to relax a bit, blow off some tension; just that, though, he didn't mean to drink himself out of the situation. She had a couple of glasses of wine –Or was it three? Or four?- herself, but was nowhere near admitting it unless caught red-handed.

This was their sex date, they both knew; she had demanded it, of course, fearing that the longer they postponed it the more elusive it became. He had growled his discontent when she had asked him, tomato red, but deep inside he had to avow that his nights were insufferable with all these nasty, naughty nightmares creeping in his subconscious. Well, maybe nightmare was a misfit; dreams, weird, disturbing dreams. None of them were teenagers. They had been officially dating for over a month, no, for exactly thirty-four days and seven hours according to some rough calculations. Second base, up-the-shirt heavy petting while making out, was simply not enough for either of them. Carol was convinced she was spiking a fever every now and then simply because his toned body was casually grazing against her freckled skin; involuntarily or not, she couldn't care less. Daryl was pondering on self-mutilation to get rid once and for all of the painful swelling between his thighs whenever she gracefully passed him by; and it was far too often for a man to bear. Their only true divergence laid to the fact that she willfully recognized the elephant in the room, when he'd much rather press his lips stubbornly and hunt down a buzzing fly.

"Are you done chewing it off?" she asked, nodding towards his mangled nail.

Daryl huffed. And then he huffed again, this time accompanying it with an upward twitch of his lips. It was shy, hardly perceptible, but it was there. "No idea what I'm gonna do tonight," he cringed, fingers working overtime rubbing his face.

Carol chuckled to disguise her panic. "Good. Me neither," she confessed, biting her bottom lip. All this time she hadn't moved an inch, feet rooted in the same place, but the wheels in her head were whirling in frenzy.

"You wanted this," he sulked.

She shrugged. "You didn't?"

It was his turn to shrug, but remained silent nevertheless.

"I can't make you do anything. We can just sleep or you can go if that's what you want to," she offered, voice slightly hoarse, masking her disappointment.

"Fuck, I'm here, ain't I?" he glared down on her, dropping his crossbow on the floor. If that wasn't enough of a proof for his intentions, then he had no idea what the freaking woman expected from him.

Fuck, he was, wasn't he?

As he watched her head hung, he immediately regretted snapping at her like that; after all, she only provided him with a way out in case he wanted to run for the hills. But, on the other hand, that's precisely what infuriated him. She should have known better, even if he was standing there ready to bark and throw tempers, prickly as fuck, she should still have known better. No need for emergency exits, he wasn't leaving her, no matter what.

Daryl squeezed her shoulder, eyeing her sheepishly. She just smiled faintly, he was already forgiven the moment he spat out the words.

They both laughed their cluelessness off simultaneously, like robots, before returning to stare with obstinate attention at the unique view of the grey, cement prison walls just to avoid each other's eyes.

It was eventually Carol that swallowed hard and decided to just hold her breath and go for it. She wobbled closer, stroking his arm and faced him, ignoring her quivering knees. "Take your time," she said simply, looking him dead in the eye. "Take all the time of the world. I'll be here."

He scoffed and mentally scolded himself for being an asshole twice in a time range of seconds. She was staying, he knew this much. God knows he had done everything within his power to push that woman away and she simply refused to give up on him with an unholy perseverance that made his heart twinge. It was only the force of habit, the long life full of people promising to stick around only to vanish right after that made him skittish at the sound of such words; but it was unfair to her, he was perfectly aware.

Carol frowned. "What?" she protested. "I'm not going anywhere, unless a walker gets me."

"That ain't happenin' in my watch," Daryl grunted, refusing to allow as much as a crack open for the visualization to sneak in his mind.

Carol chuckled wholeheartedly with his childish frown. "Then you're stuck with me for good, you poor thing."

Mere inches were hanging between them, the tension in the cell thick as a brick. Her hand was still lingering on him, playing with his fingers now, searching for his eyes; but he kept his head bowed, shoulders hunched, his Adam's apple moving up and down.

Her heart skipped a beat; this stance was more that familiar to her, she had to struggle with it for what it seemed forever all these long months before their first kiss. Now her fingers were curled around his and her other hand had moved in the curve between his neck and his jaw, gently forcing him to tilt his head and meet her. "Don't even think about that, Daryl," she whispered. "There's no one better than you. Simply doesn't exist."

Tiptoeing, she placed a soft kiss on his lips, allowing him to take the lead whenever he felt comfortable. Daryl Dixon was a blow-minding kisser, a truly exceptional one, in her humble, inexperienced opinion, of course, but still… Not right from the beginning, but sometime in the process, after a proper amount of practice and a newly emerged confidence, his inherent charisma unraveled taking her breath away. She'd call him a legendary kisser and he'd shoot a Dixon worthy scowl at her, although his mouth would quirk anyways.

Daryl reciprocated immediately, wrapping his arm around her waist to crash her against him. It was the best way to distract his mind from his absurd insecurities, to stop him from whipping himself inside out. Better than any kind of inspirational speech she could offer; simply let him watch for himself the hypnotizing effect his kisses had on her. He knew what she was doing, didn't care to stop whatsoever. Their kisses were far too succulent to resist, by far the best taste ever entered his mouth. The way she leaned into him, melting in his arms with guttural moans despite her best efforts to swallow them down as if she'd collapse on the ground if he let her , strayed his mind from his inexistent self-esteem screaming he wasn't worthy of her. Fuck, who gave a shit in the end of the world? She was his. She wanted to. Maybe she was just batshit crazy, but last time he checked there was no mental institution around to check her in, was there? This woman belonged to him and if anyone had any objection, he could freely lodge it. It was overruled in advanced and the bastard better knew how to fight.

Their kisses became more demanding, mouths wide open devouring each other, sucking and biting alternatively, greedily. Daryl felt like the king of the world, there was nothing he wasn't capable to do while he had her in his mouth.

When her hand slid inside his shirt, though, he tensed, well aware of what it meant, fighting with everything he had his urge to flinch away, lips froze but still parted. Carol didn't slow down; her mouth continued budging over his, one hand gripping his nape to rivet him in place. "It's just me, Daryl," her hot breath reflexively made his tongue run over his lips to moisten them. "I want you. I'm sick for you. I'm not going anywhere," shaky fingers unbuttoned his shirt and he could barely breathe, bent forward with eyes sealed, but she went on. "No matter what happens tonight, we'll finally figure it out."

That's what it always took with her. Just some time to catch up. And then he'd always realize that he wanted the very same thing from the beginning, even wondering how he hadn't seen it sooner.

"You and me," she muttered and he could discern endless love and flaming desire waltzing together in her pupils.

"You and me," he rasped, words parroted like a poem.

"Yeah. I love you, you know I do. I'm staying, no matter what."

He swallowed hard with a choking sound once the l-bomb exploded.

She had no intention to blurt this out like that, especially tonight; it appeared she had been suppressing her need to tell him how she really felt for him for so long the damn word just decided to unshackle itself. "You don't have to say it back. You don't have to do anything unless you want to, I swear. I have no idea what I'm doing either," she hurried to make sure he wouldn't panic. "Do you want this?"

"Yeah," he groaned, eyelids flaring, eyes uncoordinated. "All-all of it." Why was he slurring? Daryl felt drunk; she had bigger effect on him than the whiskey he had gulped earlier. He fuckin' trusted her. She wasn't going anywhere. Even if things went south tonight, and chances were they would, she wouldn't leave him. They'd figure it out.

His shirt was open now, her fingertips tracing the permanent marks of the scars around his stomach. "No," he hissed, grabbing her wrists.

"Let me," she leaned over to plant a kiss on his chest. "It's just me, Daryl."

He found her overwhelming presence mesmerizing, instantly relaxing his grip, finally letting his arms fall laxly by his sides as she gently took off his shirt. It landed on the floor, no more than a crumpled mass as the soft sound of her voice kept filling the electrified air between them.

"Relax, it's just you and me. It's just us, the freaks, remember?"

He snorted a small, humorless laugh, but shot his eyes open to look at her.

"What do you wanna know?" he asked with a grim expression spread in his face.

"Nothing. I know it all. I have the same," she smiled bitterly, taking off her red tank and unhooking the bra only for both of them to join his shirt, exposing a torso full of cigarette burns and belt scars. "He never really cared about beating Sophia. He had much more fun with me, said a child wouldn't keep its mouth shut, but I did. Still, this one and that over her," her voice was calm as her finger drifted between two cigarette burns, "I gained them both one night, saving Sophia. These two I love." A set of blue, serene eyes glistening with unshed tears met his gaze.

"How can you be like that after him?" His voice trembled from sheer shock. All he wanted to do was to reanimate the bastard, only to be able to kill him again. "After what he did to you?"

Carol shrugged, finding the question naïve at least given that the answer had been flashing on a billboard above her head for a while now. "I met you," she said simply.

Her eyes darted at the scar on his side. It was the most recent one, pinkish, in sharp contrast with the white ones around it.

"I know this one," her voice wavered with emotion.

He pinched her chin. "This one I don't regret. It's the one I'm proud of," he murmured passionately.

"Daryl…" she gasped.

He was heaving; there were so much he wanted to confess to her about Sophia. "I'd reap a thousand of these to keep her alive. I just wanted to bring her back to you so badly…"

"Sshh," she interrupted him, bringing her palm to his mouth. "You did everything you could. Please, let's not talk about this now." Her voice was pleading and her eyes wide.

Daryl nodded. This was not the time. He kissed her hand and watched her move around him.

He closed his eyes again. "No, not my back," he whispered, holding his breath.

Her recollection of that night, after almost dying searching for Sophia, was blurry. After all, she only got a glimpse before he covered himself with the sheets. But she knew exactly what she had witnessed. The scars on his front were nothing compared to those in his back. She just stood there for a few seconds, examining them, fighting back her tears for his cruel life, but mostly suffocating with pride for him.

He was gorgeous. More beautiful than she could ever articulate. When her nail grazed the line of the deepest scar marring his toned back, she felt him shuddering, gasping for air.

"How dare you, Daryl?" she mumbled, barely audibly, nuzzling her face between his sharp shoulder blades. "How dare you being ashamed of these?"

Daryl marveled at her reaction. She wasn't disgusted and she didn't pity him, either. Just exploring his body, trying to map him, to know him, to make him hers. She wasn't repulsed by him and she didn't pretend to be his savior, albeit she might was.

"These are part of you. Of who you are. They are not ugly as you fear. They are not atrocious. They are beautiful, because they are on you. They are the proof of how great a man you are. Despite them." She was hugging him now, hands wandering on his chest, hot breath burning the back side of his heart. "Your whole life, your upbringing, the world you knew, everything was afflicted to inexorably divert you from your orbit. But you became the man you were meant to be, no matter what. You should walk them around with pride. They are your proof, the proof that nothing ever broke you."

He huffed wryly. "Nothing ever broke me? I'm fucked up to the bone."

Daryl hated his aloof demeanor. His behavior was absurd, really; acting like he was dragged here by force, when he wouldn't change being in her cell if God himself invited him to heaven. But there he was, nevertheless, making her act like a fuckin' shrink, trying to figure out a way to psych him into simply doing the only fuckin' thing he wanted to. Make her his. Plain as daylight.

"Then why are you here?" That simple question felt like a slap, before she went on. "You are damaged, yes. Me too. We were damaged long before hell broke loose in the world. But you wouldn't be here now if you were just broken, as you say. You wouldn't be here with _me_. You could have been anywhere, drinking and surviving the end of the world with any woman you'd like. Women would tackily scuffle for a bite of you, you know that."

Daryl snorted. Stupid bimbos with fake, silicone-filled tits always made moves on him. They were the creepiest thing ever, scaring the shit out of him with their puckered, red lips. Even bar fights with Merle were more welcome than these; hell, even walkers seemed less spooky. He had zero interest in them in his pro-apocalyptic life and it had remained this way even in the post-apocalyptic reality. Only now he had found someone he wanted. He wanted Carol.

At some point during her heartfelt confession, she had moved in front of him again, cupping his cheek, immersing her gaze into his. "But where are you? You are here, with me. You want this, with us. Because you know how rare and precious it is. And deep down you believe you deserve this too. Because as the man I love would say, "it's too fuckin' awesome!""

His eyes darkened. "What are you doin' to me, woman?"

"If I only had one word to describe you, I would say magnificent. This is how I see you."This is how she served her heart on a dish, hoping he wouldn't chuck it away. He was magnificent to her. Felt nothing less than pure awe facing him.

"For you, I'd say invigorating." he declared solemnly and they both chuckled at the unforeseeable word choice. "I know. It's a mouthful for a Dixon. Ain't beginning to describe you, anyway." This is how he displayed his own heart on his sleeve, barely hanging from a thread. It was up to her now, to cradle it or let it crumble on the ground. After all, that was what she meant to him. The spring of life. Felt nothing less than eager for her resurrecting touch each time he met her.

He was stripped in front of her, not just in the physical sense. His soul was all opened up, exposed, naked, sucking her words like a sponge. He believed her. If only he could see himself through her eyes… Maybe he could, eventually, in the distant future. Yes, maybe he could… After all, she said nothing he didn't already believe with everything he had for her.

They kissed against, falling into each other's arms passionately, almost painfully. There was no going back this time, they both knew.

"I don't wanna hurt you," he moaned between licking and kissing her. "It's never been like that before…" He wasn't a virgin in sex, but he was a virgin in love. Women were always a means of pleasure to him, that's why he practically had no idea about sex. He was done and out of there in a flash.

But Carol trusted him with her unfaltering faith. "You won't."

"Or…"

"You won't let me down. You never have."

Suddenly, he was confident. Suddenly, he was the man in command. Suddenly, he was in charge. He wanted to do this. He could do this. He _would_ do this. He refused to die without having sex with her. His jaw was set and for a split second when he clutched her shoulders, slamming his forehead on hers, she heard his grinding teeth. "Do you have any idea what you are to me?" He rumbled both his distress and his inability to vent his pent-up emotions.

His lust for her was unleashed like a wild animal after his prey. He lunged at her brutally, devouring her mouth again and dragged her to her bunk. He sat on the edge toeing off his boots and eyed her lasciviously, uncertain of their next move.

Carol felt her knees buckle under her weight of the overall situation. God, what was she doing? She had no idea how to be on the top. Maybe she had given too much of a show over there. Maybe she had misled him and now he was expecting her to take all the initiative. Maybe she sounded too skilled, confident and experienced. Only she was clueless. Her sex life could be summed up in her being raped repeatedly by her late husband. She couldn't do this alone, she simply didn't know how. But it was obvious she had conveyed the wrong message. She was already barefoot and awkwardly positioned herself over him, finally straddling him. When she glued her mouth on his again she was shaking, ready to burst into tears and apologize, but didn't stop anyway.

"What's wrong?" he instantly registered the wrong vibe between them.

"Nothing," she mumbled, but her kisses felt distant, distracted, somewhat mechanical and he hated it. Carol's kisses always tasted the opposite, she was right there inside them, heart and soul.

He pulled back from her mouth, arms still tightly wrapped around her. "Come on, tell me."

She hated herself at that moment, hated that after everything she was chickening out at the apex of their pairing. "Thing is I'm playing cool here," she muttered pathetically, "but I have no idea what to do either. My-my sex life had never been quite…" Her voice twisted, eyes downcast, mouth twitching nervously.

She had no idea what a turn on her newly revealed fluster was for him. "Hey, don't go cold feet on me now…" Carol was ready to quail and bolt and he was choking in lust. He wasn't afraid. On the contrary, he was confident she wouldn't go anywhere despite her sudden fear; he just felt his lower parts jostling to snap out of his pants.

Carol puffed her agitation. "Your girlfriend is full of crap," she sulked, furious at herself.

Once again, she had no idea what she did to him with her natural shyness, with the way she blushed and shivered in his embrace like a teenager, forgetting the confident woman that had lured him in the bed minutes ago. She was so ignorant of her unpretentious charm he swore he had never seen anything even remotely as sexy as her in his entire life. Daryl littered her with fleeting pecks, nibbling her jaw line. "Next time you talk about my girlfriend like that, lady, there's gonna be some serious ass kicking for you," he drawled, crooked smile brightening up his face. "And that I know how to do," he winked.

She had troubled breathing, focusing, staying alive, startled at the prowess of the way he was coping with her sudden black-out, subconsciously stretching out her neck further to give him a better angle.

"Didn't you say we'll figure it out?" he rasped as his scratchy stubble wandered across the naked flesh of her breasts, hurling waves of ecstatic joy all over her body, making her wonder idly if his infamous, alleged inexperience was feigned. "You're not alone here. You don't have to take responsibility."

She scooted even closer, clinging to him, hands curled around his neck, fingertips palpating his throbbing heartbeat over his sensual curves, eyelids hermetically shut; her own heart was hammering against her chest.

"Look at me," he commanded firmly and her eyes shot open at once. "I'm right here with you."

"Yeah." The cell was spinning under his puncturing gaze.

His arm snaked upwards and a callous hand cupped her face, forcing her to focus on his words. "Don't you trust me?"

She inhaled sharply in desperate need of some air, trying to clear her mind. "Blindly. With my life. It's me I don't-" her voice wavered.

"Just us, remember?" His thumb was softly stroking her lips.

"Just us," she reiterated with religious deference, tone identical to his earlier.

And she believed in them. God, how much she believed in them. If there was a solace of faith left standing in this world it was the bond they shared.

"The freaks," he offered chuckling.

"The freaks," Carol echoed again barely conscious of anything other than his bewitching gaze, stooping forward in sickening need of his lips again.

Daryl met her halfway, fiercely grabbing both sides of her head as his tongue invaded her mouth vigorously; the shy boy from their earlier interaction sequestered at the outskirts of his brain as the aroused male prevailed, dominating his body cell by cell. Carol gasped at the unprecedented passion of his claim; her eyes rolled, but his unyielding grip steadied her when she swooned for a moment, digging her nails on his back to thwart slumping in his arms as she savored the enchanting delight of their swirling tongues.

"Trying to perk me up, huh?" she croaked out of breath, trying to keep on track with his greedy assault.

Daryl paused his frenzied pace to allow her a moment to recover, locking his blue, squinty eyes with hers. "Just love you is all," his husky whisper between her lips was so low she almost missed it. Almost.

She writhed is his arms, stifling the euphoric shriek that almost escaped her in full volume. He loved her. God, he loved her.

That was all the time she was granted. He had coaxed her out of her self-battering loop; now he ached from craving to consummate his relationship with her in one, inextricable bond. And he needed her to guide him and to reassure him he was doing fine every step of the way. She knew, of course. Carol sucked one last, shaky breath, finally relaxing. "Let's make love," she replied softly, melting in his embrace and she felt him growing hard beneath her.

He laid her on her back and in the next minute they were panting and sweating naked, Daryl on the top. When he slid inside her, he groaned at how wet she was as her nails drew blood from his back and she buried her mouth in his shoulder to muffle her moans. He started thrusting inside her rhythmically, following her advice closely, conforming with the pace she preferred. When she jerked back, releasing a primal cry, he ejaculated inside her, yanking a hand to muzzle her.

Judith's wails pierced the dead silence that followed her climax.

"Oh, fuck!" Carol gasped, not sure if what frightened her the most was the ferocity of her orgasm or the inadvertent use of the f word.

Daryl chuckled in her neck. "Let Rick handle this," he whispered, rolling over and snuggling her on him.

* * *

_**The logic behind how this chapter played out in the end is that, although I completely agree with everyone who says how emotionally damaged, vulnerable and inexperienced Daryl is, especially when it comes down to sex, this is exactly what I think about Carol too. I just couldn't see her strategically seducing him all the way through without her own insecurities hitting the surface. It had to be hard for both of them and both of them had to take the lead at some point.**_

_I hope it was convincing and I really hope you liked it :)_

_I know, I said sex was off the table, but I couldn't resist this: "You could still do the whole sex for the first time. 21 is a very important number. You get to drink when you're 21! (Ha. Drinking, sex, sort of fits together better anyway doesn't it?)" (__**llamaliscious234**__)_

_So, I decided to stop making statements and focus on writing. Wait, was that another statement? Oh, well…_

_Thank you for reading :) A review would be much appreciated :)_

10


	22. Chapter 22

My computer with ALL my stories crashed, like it's completely dead…

So, keep your fingers crossed… I guess tomorrow I'll know if anything can be saved from the hard disk… Keep your fingers crossed! I was about to update, but what can I say…

I had a new story almost complete in it. Damn, I really loved that one, couldn't wait to update as soon as possible… Ugh…

I apologize to you all, I'm so upset right now.


	23. Die Saving You (Part I)

**_OMG, I'M SUCH AN IDIOT! NOW I KNOW WHY YOU COULDN'T REVIEW! I APOLOGIZE FOR THE MESS BUT I FIXED IT._**

**_PLEASE TRY AGAIN.  
_**

_Hey, everyone!_

_What an unbelievable support from you all about my computer! Everything was salvaged. I can't believe how lucky I was this time :) _

_You shall notice that this chapter has way less syntax/vocabulary errors. This is not because I'm getting better, not at all :) This is thanks to Peta2, an amazing writer and a wonderful person who volunteered to jump into betaing this, as if being my reader wasn't awesome enough! She even had to read the words I make up when I don't know the right English word to use :) Luckily for you, most of them usually don't make it on screen…_

_**THANK YOU, Peta2!**_

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"That's a fuckin' joke!" Daryl barked, tossing his crossbow away, leaning heavily on a very distressed Carol. He roared his rage and scuffed the floor, only to lose his balance and stagger, causing her nails to dig into his flesh.

She was fighting to secure the lock of the small room they snuck into with her only free hand, the other protectively wrapped around him, striving to keep him steady.

They were looting the mall center, the four of them: Rick, Michonne, Daryl and Carol. They always avoided big shopping centers, but with the accessible supplies in a less than one day driving radius around the prison dwindling fast, the available stock in prison being precariously low after the immigration of the survivors from Woodbury and Maggie's pregnancy bringing to the forefront a whole new bunch of needs and deficiencies, their choices were limited.

Everything seemed pretty quiet in the beginning; too quiet to truly be so. The mall was immersed in a dead silence shattered only by a sudden blow of the wind through the broken windows or the meek meow of a stray cat.

And then, it all went south in a split second. Walkers started roaming the place, popping up from every corner. In the evoked havoc, the group got separated. Rick and Michonne ran in one direction, Daryl and Carol in the opposite. They knew the drill. Unless they all gathered at their meeting point in the next ten minutes, those who had made it could decide whether to leave or go look for the others.

He was leading the way to their retreat and she was close behind him. When he slammed a door open only to stomp into another horde of biters, Daryl, acting purely on instinct, yanked an arm to shove Carol behind him, but lost his grip on the loaded crossbow that swayed and catapulted an arrow right through his side, only inches over the almost identical injury he had suffered looking for Sophia. What were the fuckin' chances of this happening again?

He reeled, stumbled against the wall and blinked a few times as he strained to maintain consciousness. Carol was fighting off walkers alone, shielding him with her body, only for more to sprout from every corner and lunge towards them, their groans further blurring his senses. Shock and pain overwhelmed him, but he willed himself to gain self-control at Carol's agonizing cries, incapable to utter any reassurances from fear that he'd pass out on her the moment he unclenched his jaw. An arm locked around him and he reflexively threw his own over her shoulders, allowing her to drag him deeper down the corridor's maze as he kept grunting for her to flee. Too befuddled to snap at her for not heeding his commands, he forced himself to tag along in a jogging pace, barely eschewing the gory claws in their trail and only idly registering that her knees buckled under his weight that threatened to plump them both on the ground.

Once they were inside the ephemeral, relative safety of the small chamber, Daryl noticed her ragged breaths. "Dibs on the floor," he muttered to distract her and Carol chuckled despite the direness of their situation, guiding him to the corner across the door. He sprawled sloppily on the cold cement with his back to the wall, and she crouched in front of him.

"That door ain't gonna hold forever," he grumbled, his eyes piercing through her the same way the arrow had pierced his side.

"I know," she said plainly, not a single emotion ringing in her voice as she turned her attention to his wound.

Carol was exceptionally quiet, focused on the task at hand. The red patch of blood on his khaki shirt broadened with every passing second. Walkers might be crowding outside, but that meant nothing if she didn't stop his bleeding. With one abrupt, fluid motion, she ripped his shirt open to assess the damage. The bolt had penetrated him in and out, leaving a nice and clean hole in its wake. That was a good thing, right? But the blood kept spurting, hot and thick.

His eyes were working overtime, darting around the walls and the ceiling; all he needed to secure her escape route was a window or a hatch. A smile cracked in his pale face when he discerned the former. "Climb on that table and squeeze yourself through the window. You'll be fine," he motioned.

She followed the direction of his index and shot him an incredulous look, sincerely terrified that he had lost his mind suggesting something as inconceivable as this. Had he already lost enough blood for a brain damage? No way.

Daryl wasn't paying any attention to his wound, well aware that the blood loss he suffered would render him pretty much useless sooner rather than later. He didn't have much time to make sure she'd survive this; it was a matter of minutes before he fell unconscious. "Go away. Now."

"I'm not leaving you," she eyed him sheepishly. "I'm fighting." Despite the glittering fear in her wide look, there was a sober finality in her tone.

"Go, Carol!" he yelled, putting everything he had into sounding menacing.

She shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Not that he expected a different answer. Damn woman just didn't know when to give up on someone, especially him. "You have to stall them, then."

"Shh, don't speak. Keep your strength." Her voice was thick with emotion and hoarse, but she willed her hands to stop shaking. His current injury was worse than the one for Sophia. She shook her head trying to sequester the thoughts of her deceased daughter; neither the time nor the place. The bolt had pierced him higher and she couldn't estimate whether there was any internal damage or not.

Daryl was startled by her grim determination, but worrying for his life was really low in his list of priorities at the moment. "Take this." He grunted, drawing a gun from his belt. "It's a bit different from yours. This is a colt, the safety works differently. Look. You ju-just aim at the bastards and blow their brains out."

She snatched it absentmindedly and dropped it next to her, lips pursued in absolute concentration as she crumpled up the shred cloth and pressed it on his side, thrusting all her weight over it so forcefully her knees almost flew off the ground.

When she noticed blood springing under the garment, she replaced her hand with his. "Hold it right here." The order was too stern for him to ignore. "I have to stop the bleeding," she muttered to herself, nervously biting her lower lip. She scrambled on her floor and fisted her back pack, tipping it over, its contents spread around in a flash.

"You don't have time. You must-"

Finding what she was searching for, Carol sprinkled the disinfectant on his naked skin, causing him to wince and flinch in pain. "I'm sorry, I know it stings," she mumbled, but before he even had a chance to control his painful grimace, dexterous fingers were twining hastily a clean bandage around him.

He felt so light-headed he wanted to kick himself and he still failed to draw her attention away from his ribs. Nothing in the world riled him up more effectively than her fixation on her purpose. "Are you listening to me?"

She was almost done. "We apply enough pressure, you're gonna be fine," she ranted, binding it up as securely as she could. Her first aid skills could only get them this far anyway.

"Fuck! Listen to me!" he screamed, grabbing her wrist.

Carol froze, a soft moan escaped her lips and he released her, realizing that his white nails clearly hinted he was hurting her. "We have to keep you alive," she whispered faintly, but he had her full attention now.

Daryl furrowed his brows. "You're gonna be alone in that," he growled. "If you hold the door long enough, you'll make it. Rick's coming for us." Fuck, he was dizzy.

"I know what I have to do," she sulked at him.

"Then fuckin' DO it!" he bellowed his irrational indignation.

Carol rubbed her face and turned to examine their surroundings, perfectly certain that Daryl had already scanned the place, weakness or not. It looked like a laundry room, but the floor and the walls towered empty now; she scoffed at the reminiscence of the first days of the breakthrough when people stole anything of value to resell it in the black market; apparently someone had thought to swipe this place clean of the washing machines, leaving some solitary hooks popping out from the walls. And then a lamp lit in her brain. She launched on her feet immediately and started rummaging the cargo of his backpack until she dredged up a rope.

Daryl smirked, swelling from pride. "Good girl."

In less than a minute she had tied the two edges of the rope in two tight knots, one at the doorknob and the other around one of the hooks. The door was bouncing more and more under the ferocity of the full-blown siege.

"Is that all right?" She turned to him for guidance, pointing at the curve of the rope.

"Just a bit tighter," he said calmly, trying to conceal his lassitude. "Don't let the rope so loose. All-all you need is a ten inch crack." He knew he had to control his slurring and his painful groans; he was scaring the shit out of her and she wasn't even started yet.

Carol was at his side again, cool fingers sweeping the beads of sweat from his forehead.

"You know everything you need to make it; you know you do, right?" He was amping up her confidence now, hurling gusts of pleasure into her bloodstream.

Carol twisted her fingers nervously; she could barely remember her name, let alone every trick he had taught her to cheat death.

But Daryl was never anything less than a ruthless coach. "Tell me."

She inhaled sharply, the wheels in her head swirling frantically as she tried to parrot strategies and combine methods. "I open the door. The rope will hold for a while. First I use the machete and the knife, take out as many as possible through the opening. It's pretty narrow, there's gonna be only a couple of them at a time, so it must be relatively easy."

Daryl nodded.

"That's how I'll do it as long as the door holds; piling them up in the entrance so their bodies will act as a mound to block those coming. This way, when the door or the rope breaks, they won't swamp the room at once."

"And then what?"

"I'll retreat and take the guns out. Noise doesn't matter at this point."

"Right. Use the rifle first, ok? Riddle as many as possible at the doorway. Bolster up the fuckin' thing the best you can." He spoke emphatically, covering each step of the impossible mission she'd execute in solitary.

"Rick and Michonne will be here before the walkers burst in," she added confidently, ignoring her hammering heart.

"I taught you well," he swaggered smugly and she beamed at him in return. "You're not dying today."

"I'll be your savior today, Daryl. Gonna gloat about it for the rest of my life!" Her attempt to tease him was successful, a stifled giggle escaped his lips until he saw her spilling some pills. "Swallow these." Her hand was covering his mouth now.

"What the fuck are you carrying in that bag of yours? You know I hate pills," he grumped feebly, lips pursued.

"I'm not about to fight off a herd on my own just to have you dying on me from bleeding." She eyed him evenly and Daryl wasn't sure if he begrudgingly opened his mouth or if it fell agape at her fury.

He swallowed the pills, fighting back the urge to lean into her hand that was now tilting his chin to drip some sips of water through his parched lips. He gulped almost all of it greedily; a wave of invigorating clarity purged temporarily his tormented mind.

"When they break in-" He grabbed her wrist again, but she jerked away and interrupted him sharply.

"They're not breaking in; they're not getting to you."

Daryl sighed. "Gimme a handgun and a bullet."

Carol heard him slack jawed, blinking, refusing to grasp the true meaning of his words. "Why?"

"Ain't being no fuckin' walker meal," he grumbled, never losing her eyes.

"You said I'm not dying today," she growled, glaring down on him.

Daryl confirmed it again. "You're not."

"If I'm not, neither are you," she stated coldly.

"Don't be a fool!" he hissed, weariness claiming more and more of his senses. "You've come too far to act like one now. Once they're in, just wr-wring yourselves through the fuckin' window. Fuckers gonna be too busy with me to-"

She puckered her lips stubbornly. "Would you leave me? If things were the other way around?"

"Fuck, yeah!" He mustered all his acting talent in this hurtful response he spat at her face only to persuade her to abandon him behind and save herself; it wasn't over for her, he knew. "There's no way outta this fuckin' place for me." There was still a chance she could make it, as long as she was convinced to never cast a glance behind.

Carol didn't buy it for a second, but didn't want to argue with him either. "Lil' Ass Kicker's gonna be teething soon. She's gonna need you to sooth her," she offered, taking his cold hand in hers. Judith was her ace in the hole and she knew she had played her card wisely.

Daryl's expression softened instantly and he smirked despite himself at the thought of the baby, all fussing around and gargling those magnificent bubbles of saliva. "Lil' Ass Kicker's gonna be just fine as long as she has you and Rick." Full House. He had played his better.

"We all need you. Most of all, I do," she breathed. Flush Royal. No way to contradict this; he didn't want to, even if he could. The radiating warmth of her hands had a far too mesmerizing effect on him to resist. Her eyes welled up with tears, but she brushed them away with the back of her palm.

"Ask me to leave again and I swear I'll punch you. Not much you can do to stop me." She shrugged like a sassy child, voice solemn, yet rigid.

Daryl quit trying to talk some sense into her and snickered despite himself. "Ok," he conformed. "Sorry I ain't gonna be much of a help." They were both bitterly aware of how quickly his strength withered. He was deathly pale and his lips had turned chalky white.

Her fingertips ghosted on his arm in a caress so imperceptible he wondered if he was hallucinating it. "We're gonna make it. Both of us. I promise." She was shaking now, panic and the overall agitation taking a toll on her steadfast composure.

They locked their gazes. Carol felt her eyes scorching under his fading, yet puncturing look, an unfathomable, dead serious expression spread across his features. He hated her fear. He hated how alone she was in that total fuck-up. It was the last thing she expected from him, when his hand cupped her nape and he slammed her against his bare chest wincing in pain as her slender torso crashed on his wound. She gasped at the clumsiness of the unforeseen, affectionate display from his side, but her arms were all around him in a split second and she clung to his body desperately, taking in the masculine scent oozing off his pores, deriving courage from the mere contact.

"Don't make promises you dunno if you can keep," he murmured in her ear, blinking away the dampness in his eyes.

All she wanted to do was to kiss him hard and sob in his neck. Instead, she only allowed a soft whimper to jolt her chest. "Daryl-" she choked, but he hushed her immediately.

He only held her pinned for a few seconds before relaxing his grip and she pulled back reluctantly, staring at him with eyes aflame. He knew. He knew, because her heart was all stripped, mirroring in that blue, burning up ocean. He knew, because he felt the urge to express so many feelings lingering on the tip of his tongue that he ultimately had to bite his lip in order to restrain himself.

Carol opened her mouth to speak again, only for him to stop her once more. "No goodbyes before the battle, Carol," he rasped. "Bad omen. And too distra- distracting. Save it for later." The unnerving slurring of his voice nearly did her in.

"What if there is no later?" She sniffled, swallowing hard the giant lump in her throat.

"Then it is what it fuckin' is," he croaked, huskier than he intended to.

"We stand or we fall together. I'm not leaving you," she whispered, insurmountable determination tensing her face as she clasped his hand again. The skirmish was over, not a slit for debate in her resolve.

"I kn-know," he sighed defeated, but somewhere deep in his chest a twinkle waltzed with a wild, primal sense of joy. He would never leave her behind. He would leave any other, if there was no other way to survive; hell, that was the entire point of survival. But never her. He'd rather go down with her, right choice or not. As his clarity was quickly ebbing away, he wondered why that was, why would he die instead of leaving Carol behind. And there was a triumphant twist in his gut, an almost feral ebullience at the dawning realization that this irrational, almost compulsive urge was reciprocated. He had no idea where that had popped up from. It didn't make any sense, they were just close friends. Very close, too close, maybe, but nothing other than naughty innuendos from her side had ever happened between them to suggest otherwise. There was nothing he wouldn't sacrifice for a chance to find out the answer, though. Maybe it was the same answer to his other question; why the fuck everything was spinning around, blurry and plunged in an engulfing haze? Everything except from her face? Why he could still focus crystal clear on her grayish, blue eyes and hold on to them forever, when he could barely distinguish the fuckin' banging door?

"You wouldn't leave me either," she stated, summoning everything she had to sound overconfident, still failing to mask the qualm that twisted her wavering voice.

They were on the brink of death, about to be chewed alive any moment. What was the point in lying right now? He called it distraction, but it might serve as a motivation to her, knowing beyond any doubt that he, too, would fight tooth and nail to protect her and die trying without as much as a second thought. "No fuckin' way," he drawled, squeezing her fingers more abrasively than his actual intention was.

Carol inhaled deeply and her lips quirked upwards, despite her teary eyes.

They remained silent for a few seconds, their gazes conveying volumes of poetry between each other. The door behind them would swing open any moment now unless Carol was there first to trigger a reverse outcome to the all-encompassing tragedy in progress.

"Are you afraid?"

Carol brought his callous hand to her face, shaking her head intensely. She was afraid; if she wanted to stress out her honesty, she'd have to confess she was petrified. But not for her. For him.

"You can do-do this." He groaned painfully, his free hand instinctively pressing the already drenched in blood bandage. Carol nodded fiercely, gaze drifting to his side. He was still bleeding; she had to get him out of here.

"Be careful." Daryl muttered, wiping away the stray tears with his thumb. She nodded again, lips glued in a firm line.

And then he blurted the sentence they always shared when parting for warfare, either with the dead or with the living. "Stay safe," he rasped, voice thick with emotion, eyelids flapping.

Another nod. She tried, she really did try her best to utter, even mumble her standard reassuring response, reminding him of her nine lives, but her chin trembled too much to trust that she was in position to articulate anything. Instead, she brought his knuckles to her mouth, squeezing his hand with both of hers, with every ounce of strength still seething inside her, dread and trepidation blotting out under his gaze.

"Go now," he drawled through squinty eyes, his infamous crooked smile flourishing in his drained face.

That was it then. She would save him. Or she would die trying. Carol gently placed his hand back to his lap. Then fisted her fingers.

And just like this, she crashed her soft lips on his for a unique, fleeting kiss and stormed towards the hazardously rebounding door.

Daryl followed her with droopy eyes as she momentarily lingered on the door frame, her back the last discernible image for his foggy vision; he had mustered all his strength in those few minutes they shared and was now lain there completely worn out of stamina. He wished he could fight by her side. He wished he could protect her. He wished he could cram her sorry ass through the window and make sure she survived. He wished she wasn't fool enough to get bit or scratched or gorged alive, only to make a vain sacrifice he wasn't worthy of; he knew she was, though. He wished she'd make it, by some miracle. He wished he didn't die from blood loss; that was a lame way for a Dixon to kick the bucket and she deserved better after putting up the fight of her life. He wished he was granted a "later", another meeting with her cerulean gaze. He wished for a chance to decipher what that peck on his lips was for. Or if it was real at all and not just a figment of his imagination. The last sound he registered was the clicking lock and then darkness engulfed him.

As she curled her hand around the knob, she was overwhelmed by the urge to run back to him, but she couldn't afford to risk it. Their time was up. Carol gritted her teeth. Too many premises had to be fulfilled to ensure that Daryl would make it through this. And it was all on her now. Equanimity was prerequisite to concentration. Concentration was prerequisite to competence. Competence was prerequisite to success. _Her_ success was prerequisite to _his_ survival. And then his wound… She closed her eyes and sucked a deep breath. One step at a time.

The knob swiveled.

Clawing hands and gluttonous teeth gushed through the opening. The rope stretched, wobbling back and forth at the momentum of their assailants. Carol didn't faze; she uttered a paroxysmal warrior whoop and lunged forward, chopping off limps, slaughtering, decapitating, squelching skulls in a frenzied killing spree of no precedence, the small opening that the rope allowed gave her a huge leverage. The moment her peripheral view registered his motionless figure gliding against the wall and slumping on the floor, mere execration and bloodlust gleamed in her darkened eyes and she resumed her fighting with a vehemence she had no idea was lurking in her gut.

She heard Rick hollering their names from the distance down the corridor and she shrieked back as her hopes rekindled, a new wave of valor and dauntlessness flooding in her veins, steeling her will to fight more, harder, persistently, till the very end. Slicing a walker's head open with her machete, Carol realized the door couldn't withstand the brunt of their ferocity any longer.

Taking a few steps backwards, she dumped the knife and the machete on the floor and bent over to grab the assault rifle, cussing under her breath that she only had one round of bullets for that one. With her eyes transfixed on the door, she leaned over him to make sure he was still breathing and tucked the unruly wisps of his overgrown hair behind his ear. She was back in her position in a split second; squared her body on the ground and steeled her torso, perfecting her stance, towering her petite figure in front of Daryl's lifeless body. Waiting. Anticipating blankly the monstrous atrocities to intrude their last sanctuary; her faith that Rick and Michonne were combating their way to her, unfaltering. Holding a riffle and having two handguns in her belt, idly wondering if she bore any ostensible resemblance to movie superheroes, to those badasses that seemed bulletproof by principle or simply ricocheting all the fire shot against them. That was the moment the joints dismantled and the door thudded before her boots with a dull sound.

Bullets were whizzing all over the confined space, perforating rotten fleshes, bodies jerking and twitching uncoordinatedly before cluttering clumsily onto each other, forming an incoherent jumble of pretty much nothing but vestiges of previous living human beings. She remained collected, body straight as an arrow. The door was overrun. She was the last line of defense between _them_ and _him_. And she wasn't dead yet. As long as she was breathing, so would he. But there seemed to be no ending to this herd. As if the walkers were self-propagating, Carol felt that the more she dispatched the more and the greedier were amassing in the entrance, squeezing their sapless limbs inside the chamber.

Her round was over.

She drew the handguns, one in each hand; her own and the colt. Aiming and firing, yet forced to constant retreat. Not a bullet was wasted as she was progressively surrounded and cornered, wailing for Rick and Michonne to hustle to her aid. She pulled the trigger of the colt, repeatedly, but nothing fired. Chucking it away and keep shooting with her last gun, she tripped on Daryl's body, pathetically realizing that she was almost nailed against the wall.

And then, just like that again, she was out of ammunition.

The blood throbbing in her veins converted into sheer ice. Lost in her daze, she had neglected to save two bullets for their headshots; she had forgotten the pact he didn't even bother to remind her about. There would be no purging coup de grace shortcut to salvation for them, they were doomed in this heinous reality that dictated human beings being devoured alive by the walking corpses of the vanquished humanity. But maybe, just maybe it wasn't too late for both of them. Maybe, just maybe, there was still an infinitesimal chance for him to walk out of this graveyard alive and breathing. That was all she needed, though. Insofar as she wasn't having visions of their triumphant rescue, she could swear she heard both Rick and Michonne plaintively yelping her name, she could swear she distinguished the whistling sound of the katana lacerating the suffocating air of the room. They were close. The herd was dispatched quickly between them; all she was longing for were a few extra seconds. And she wasn't even bestowed with this much of a concession. Yet, she might still have the opportunity to spare his life.

Carol threw herself all over his frame, covering as much of his physical surface as possible with her own, her left hand protectively cupping his head. One of the walkers originally recoiled, intercepted by her shooting spree, started crawling its way towards them; vile, black slime spurting from the bullet holes on his chest, jaw gnarling, drooping sticky substance, claws reaching out for Daryl. She vaguely recalled this one; it was in the vanguard of this herd, its torso aping a sieve. More walkers gathered behind it, staggering on the legion of bodies and reanimated corpses, closing the distance between them. She released a primal cry, unsheathed her pocketknife and buried it straight into the walker's milky eye, running the blade in right to the hilt, decaying blood splattering all over her face and neck. Another one, and then three more on its heels, was now snarling only inches away from them, but the knife was stuck and she had no leeway to maneuver its way out of the reeking eye socket. Unable to pluck it, she left it splashing in the gore, kicking as hard as she could another one that approached her leg.

That was it. She had failed to protect him. She had failed to save him. She had tossed her chance for a "later" with him away. Carol was draped around him, her right hand worming to tighten her stern grip around his head, rolling tears tainting her face. Her cheek collided with his as she sobbed his name and sealed her eyes; the last image she registered peering through her blurry veil was a shriveled finger grazing her temple. She screamed, not identifying the thundering, guttural shriek as her own.

_To be continued…_

* * *

_**Ugh… Shit! My stomach is a knot right now!**_

_**Sorry about this. I swear I was working on a funny chapter and then, boom! That one sneaked in my mind, literally writing itself down.**_

_**It was too angsty, I know, but you all know how my cliffhangers work ;) So, keep calm!**_

_**Thing is I don't own TWD, but I wish I did so I could turn it into Caryl with some random walkers wandering around! God, I'm shameless!**_

_**Thank you for reading :) You all know how much I'd love a review *shy fidgeting :)***_

11


	24. Die Saving You (Part II)

_Hey everyone,_

**_BEFORE you read this chapter, I strongly encourage you to go back and reread Part I. This follow-up is written in a way that a lot of parts are parallel and click together and it would be a pity to miss them since it's been a few days from that post._**

_I apologize for the mess I caused with the previous chapter and the fact that most of you couldn't initially review. I fixed it only too late :) My loss, of course. _

_Special thanks to **Peta2 **and her friend **Tami **who went over that chapter again and not just once! Half the planet is trying to correct my stories, LOL._

_This chapter is dedicated to **tracys dream**.I really needed those words at that moment.  
_

_The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Rick was sitting across the kitchen table, regarding her cautiously, both of them holding a cup of hot coffee as the clock was ticking; it was almost 11p.m.

"Are you sure he's ok?" It was the tenth time she asked him the same.

"He's fine," he reiterated simply, running out of variations after the multiple repetition. "He's had worse."

"I doubt that," she mumbled.

"Still, he's fine." His gaze was transfixed on her. "How are you holding up?"

"I wish I could sleep," she shrugged.

Rick's jaw hardened, grief and fatigue were engraved all over his distorted face, his shoulders hunched.

Carol smiled encouragingly. "Just say it," she offered.

"I still can't believe what happened out there."

"Yeah, you and me both," she chuckled bitterly.

"You did awesome." He eyed her warily, the agony that he had failed to get there in time whipping his mind.

She returned the cautious gaze. "No need to praise me, Rick. I'm not a child. I wanted him to live. I wanted both of us to come back here again, with all of you."

He opened his mouth to say something, but she interrupted him abruptly. "There's no way you're taking the blame for this. No matter what happens next."

"I'm sorry." That's all he managed to whisper as he got up and kneeled in front of her, pulling her into an embrace.

"For what?" Carol loved Rick; their relationship had gone through hell, but they somehow contrived to reason out the riddle and end up the closest of siblings, kin, family.

He sucked in a shaky breath and when he spoke again, the words he uttered weren't the ones he wanted to say. "Keeping you up. You're exhausted."

"You have to, I understand." She pulled back and stroked his face lightly, exhaustion glittering in both their bloodshot eyes. "It's nice you're with me."

He kissed her forehead. "Everything's gonna be fine."

"Probably," she nodded, lips quirking upwards.

"Carol-"

"No goodbyes in advance, Rick," she hushed him hastily. "Bad omen. Save it for later." Her mind drifted instantly to the man who told her those same phrases earlier that day, yearning to see him again jarring in her stomach.

"What if there is no later?"

Carol snickered; it was inescapable that question, wasn't it? As if the only response that made sense after denying a goodbye. "Then it is what it fuckin' is," she quoted and watched his eyes widening for a moment before the dawning realization that something enigmatic he was not granted access hinted in her words.

Heavy boots thudded and came to a halt in the doorway. They both turned their heads simultaneously.

* * *

_She had screamed, bracing herself for the jaw gnarling in her ear to rip her flesh off to shreds. And then nothing. Two gunshots, the whizzing sound of a sword and the thump of a mass bumping on her back. But nothing else._

_Michonne chopped off the walker's head literally the moment it was about to dig its teeth in her arm as Rick dispatched two others snarling near Carol's and Daryl's legs._

_As the other woman hastily skimmed the decapitated skull off Carol's back, she and Rick exchanged an incredulous look, their eyes instantly darting on the unlikely spectacle lying in front of them._

_Daryl was sprawled on the floor on his left side, motionless and that was all they could make out of his frame. Carol, on the other hand, was soaked in blood, thick droplets dripping from her elbow, her tank top drenched in the viscous slime of walker blood, seeping the abhorrent stench of extreme putrefaction. Wrapped all around him, arms locked over his head, legs entangled with his and faces glued, she was clinging to Daryl with an outlandish clutch, evidently striving to shield him from imminent and looming threats; she, herself, trembling like a leaf in the breeze and hyperventilating frantically, seemed completely oblivious to their presence, eyes sealed and teeth chattering uncontrollably. _

"_Carol?" Michonne crouched next to her, touching her shoulder with her fingertips but she didn't respond. _

_They both tried to coax her out of her daze, whispering promises of reassurance and palliation and stroking her back, until she finally shot her eyes open and stared at their moving mouths aghast, no sound reaching her ears through the deafening throbbing of her heart, limbs never relaxing the unyielding grip they had on Daryl as she kept shuddering head to toe. _

_Finally she lolled her head just a bit to check on him and that light lift of her body was all Rick needed to grab her and drag her away, the squirming resistance she put up almost nonexistent._

_Michonne was checking her out, inch by inch, for injuries, hardly able to distinguish anything in the penumbra of the chamber and the cloak of rotten blood that blanketed her, but Carol's eyes drifted on Rick who was stooping over Daryl._

_And then she heard a voice vaguely resembling hers, although hoarse and distant. "Is he alright?"_

"_What happened?"_

_There was that voice again. "The-the crossbow…" she slurred. The crossbow… The crossbow… She started crawling towards the spot she recalled him tossing it, stumbling and climbing over sapless corpses, but her arms quivered too violently and she had to surrender to Michonne's orders to tell her what she wanted. "The crossbow…" Carol pointed._

_Rick had to put the rest of the pieces together. "How long has he been like that?"_

_She shot him a blank look, time was something she had completely lost track of; whether she was in there for half an hour or twenty years she couldn't tell. "Before they burst in." _

_Carol watched his eyes goggling, her own expression still blank as she idly wondered why he was inspecting her with mouth agape. "You did this alone?" _

_She shrugged._

_Michonne was by her side again, handing her the crossbow and she willed her fingers to curl around it as Michonne resumed groping her for wounds._

"_Are you bit?"_

_She shook her head._

"_What is that? Are you scratched?"_

_Carol blinked her eyes, trying her best to focus. "I- I don't know," she whispered honestly. It was there, no doubt, a deep, diagonal abrasion strewing from the inner part of her left elbow down her forearm; but whether it was a walker's accomplishment or she had inflicted it on herself somehow during the battle, Carol had no idea. _

"_Let's get out of here," Michonne turned to Rick. "The sooner the better."_

"_Do you ne-need any help?" she offered, watching Rick grunting in an effort to hoist Daryl over his shoulder. Her eyes darted around nervously when the former sheriff kept gawking at her like she had lost her mind, her grip on the crossbow unyielding._

_Michonne was in front of her in a flash, blocking her view. "Let me help you." Her voice was calm, soothing; Carol had never heard her like that before._

"_But-" she stammered, motioning to the two men._

"_He's gonna be fine, Rick's got him." Michonne cupped her face. "Let me help you get to the cars. Don't you want us to go home?"_

_Carol nodded, her eyes welling up with tears at the sound of the last word. She draped her arm over Michonne's shoulders and the other woman held her tight from the waist, the two of them leading the way; Rick's hunched figure with Daryl hanging limp over him following close behind._

* * *

It was Rick who broke the silence, addressing Daryl. "How are you doing?"

He was leaning against the door frame, cleaned, bandaged and more restful then usual after passing out for eight hours, though his weakness was evident from his dragging feet and his color was still far from normal.

"Peachy," he drawled, his eyes wandering all over Carol's frame, never drifting to Rick, an unfathomable fire sparkling inside them.

Her own gaze lingered on his face forever, lips pressed in a thin line, nostrils flaring; it was crystal clear for an external, unbiased observer like Rick that Carol was overwhelmed by emotion.

"I'd better go check on Carl and Judith," Rick rumbled as he cleared his throat, attempting to discretely allow them some privacy. These two were a mystery to him; the kind of relationship they shared always seemed to evade him.

Carol gave him a quick smile and Daryl nodded as Rick approached him.

"Glad to see you up again. Let me know if-"

"I got it," Daryl interrupted him calmly, yet firmly, his tone allowing no leeway for further negotiations, eyes never leaving Carol's.

When they were alone in the kitchen, she lowered her gaze, unable to compete with his piercing eyes. Daryl walked slowly to the counter, poured himself some coffee and then he approached her, dropping on Rick's previous seat and slouching over the table.

"What are we waitin' for?" he deadpanned, his poker face unfaltering.

Her fingers wrapped around her mug and her lips twitched momentarily before she stared back at him, voice husky. "For me to die and turn."

The cracking sound of his clenching jaw reached her ears before they locked eyes again in a gloomy duel, both vying to convey their own messages, both failing, too immersed in the bleakness of the looming calamity.

Daryl scoffed, gaze flicking away. "Show me."

Carol stretched her arm, part of her wishing that his overly skilled, acute hunter's senses would provide an answer for the nature of her trauma, hacking this Gordian knot once and for all and terminating this torturous anticipation of the disaster to strike, part of her insanely jittery as her heart jolted in her chest, suddenly terrified of the impending, definitive verdict.

He had hoped it was mere collective stupidity. When he opened his eyes only to find himself lying comfortably in his cell, having absolutely no clue what had happened and how the fuck he fled that freaking place, the first thing he asked Hershel's figure next to him was her whereabouts. The answer dumbfounded him, sincerely leading him to believe they were all fools; he launched out of bed, put on some clean clothes and headed to the kitchen, fuming. How was it possible that they couldn't distinguish between a walker scratch and just a scratch? Grabbing her arm in both his hands and examining the jagged, uneven slit as closely as possible with narrowed eyes and brows furrowed, even smelling it, he had to admit that any conclusion he jumped to would be a blind guess. It could be either.

Carol smirked bitterly as every grain of nonchalance and steel composure were effectively obliterated from his expression, only to be replaced with bewilderment and apprehension. "Is it?" she gasped, hanging off every word.

"I dunno," he admitted defeated, closing his eyes. "Fuck."

"I know," she sighed, pulling back her limb. "It might be, and then again, it might not."

He rubbed his face with his hands. "Fuck." he growled, raking his fingers through his hair, hardly capable of suppressing the rage sizzling in his veins.

It was coming, the outburst; he would erupt like a volcano any moment now. She couldn't stand this, him blaming himself, venting the encumbrance of his pent up emotions by yelling at her; not right now.

"How are you feeling?" she tried to change the subject, biting her lip, only for her noble intentions to backfire miserably.

"How am _I_ feelin'?" His head snapped up. "Like a fuckin' princess," he barked, fingers curled in fists. "Layin' back while someone feeds me grapes and does my nails when everybody else is out there bustin' their ass actually doing something."

"That's not fair at all," she muttered in a desperate effort to reason with him.

Her stoicism flipped his mind, threw him over the edge. "How many times are you plannin' to die in one fuckin' day?" he raved at her, jumping up and kicking the table forcefully. He winced from the punctuating pain in his side as the mugs bounced over the wooden surface, spilling coffee around.

Carol said nothing, just wiped the coffee blotch on her hands off her cargo pants and bowed her head to conceal her trembling chin. Tears wouldn't be in anyone's best interest right now. Placing her hands on her lap and focusing on them, she settled with casting sidelong glances at him. She hated his rage, because she knew it was due to dread and self-punishment, but at the same time, she wished he could be emotionally present for once, realizing what the ambivalence of the overall situation meant to her. Now that she had gone through hell and somehow contrived to have him there alive, her life didn't seem meaningless or trivial anymore; she did give a damn about living or dying, she wanted to live, to watch him thrive as a mischievous hero in that horrific world. On the contrary, she was scared that she would die; that she would die a terribly slow death after saturating in the corrosive liquid of an enigmatic future and he wouldn't be there to hold her.

Guilt and wrath radiated off his tensed posture in waves, spreading around him in a sinister halo as he started pacing the length of the room almost hysterically. He was heaving, oxygen failing to fill his lungs or clear his brain. The clomping contact of his boots with the concrete echoed thunderously in his head and he was suddenly dizzy, ready to pass out again; reality had grabbed him in a suffocating chokehold and a steel clutch squished his heart, threatening to morph it into a coagulated mass of nothingness.

The whole world, his entire life was nothing but a colossal shithole, devouring anything he ever dared to dream with greedy gulps, ensuring to eliminate every single ray of joy that crept into his worthless existence. For a moment, a unique, bright moment, when he opened his eyes to face the familiar prison walls, everything felt unnaturally in place. They had made it. They were back. Hope, that cunning, devious bitch… And then everything was shattered with one, blunt blow, as usual. He closed the distance between them and towered in front of her until she was forced to tilt her head and face him, still avoiding his gaze.

"How close was it?"

"Pretty close," she replied quickly, waiting patiently for the roaring lion to abate, focused on forbidding the sting in her eyes to spill over.

Peering randomly over her bent, almost doubled over frame, he saw it; leaning against the wall, intact and squeaky clean as if somebody had fastidiously scraped the variety of stains off it. The overall moribund feeling that had engulfed him only deteriorated as he now felt punched in the gut. Carol, who else? Who else would be fool enough to bother fetching a crossbow back from that pandemonium? Who else would be fool enough to clean it even if it was the last thing to do before kicking the bucket?

She didn't deserve his fit, not now, not ever. It was only because he was terrified, anyway; terrified that he'd lose her twice in a day especially after his hopes were rekindled. Throwing tempers was his coping mechanism, otherwise fear and pain would send him sobbing into the corner, rocking back and forth. But both were unfair to her; her options should never be limited between a raging beast and a whiny baby. She deserved the third path, a real man of honor by her side to be the beacon she needed through this. His eyes lingered on her again, but he couldn't get a glimpse of her face.

"You brought it back?" he rasped quietly, motioning in the crossbow's direction, his whizzing breaths finally subsiding as he forced his blazing temper to simmer down.

"Didn't wanna see what'd happen when you woke up to find it was missing," she mumbled, wriggling her fingers.

Daryl crouched in front of her, expression more composed and voice calmer than earlier.

"What about the colt?"

Carol shrugged. "It's still there, I guess."

"And the machete?"

She shrugged again. "With the colt."

"You want it back?"

"What? The machete?" Another shrug. "I guess…" If she was alive…

"If you do, we'll go back to get it for you. As soon as I ain't stoned as fuck." The kitchen brightened up by his crooked smile. "What do these people have me on?" he asked conspiratorially.

"Painkillers and antibiotics mostly," she smirked through blurry, droopy eyes, shunting a mop of his unruly hair aside.

"Pfft… I bet the old man is experimentin' on me with horse drugs," Daryl sneered and she chuckled. "So, you're up to revisitin' the fuckin' mall?" He eyed her sheepishly.

"Well, I never had the chance to snatch a red dress… That's the only reason I joined you in the first place," she tried to joke and succeeded momentarily, even extracting a grin on his behalf, but then her voice choked into a sob and burning tears streamed down her face before she had the chance to swallow them down. "I'm afraid," she confessed between whimpers.

Daryl sighed, tearing his gaze off her in an attempt to swallow down the lump in his throat. He dragged a chair closer to her and sank heavily into it.

"I'm sorry. I know you hate this." Carol wiped her eyes, but fresh tears welled up and poured down immediately, before she could brush them away.

He clasped her dainty hands in his, allowing her tears to roll freely. "It's ok," he whispered hoarsely through gritted teeth. "I'm afraid too."

Her jaw slackened at the unforeseen avowal. "You're never afraid," she sniffled.

"I am now," he admitted, squeezing her hands. His voice was thick with emotion and, for a split second, he was tempted to join her crying.

That only made her weep harder. "I'm so tired. I can't really say if I'm infected or just desperate to get some rest. I just wanna sleep. But I don't want to die in my sleep. That's why Rick had to keep me awake. God, it's so exhausting just sitting down and waiting to die," she ranted between sobs and he didn't interrupt her. "I've been thinking about Jim, how we left him by the side of the road, all alone. We've lost so many loved ones… Jim, Jackie, Amy, Dale, Jimmy, Patricia, Shane, Lori, T, Oscar, Axel, Andrea…" Carol held her breath.

His eyes were burning holes in her face.

"Merle."

His lips twitched, still waiting for the final blow.

"Sophia," she breathed barely audibly and seemed to drift for a second. "Do you think he'll keep an eye on her?"

"Who?"

"Merle."

Daryl thought she had lost her mind, already delirious from the transformation process. "Why would Sophia go anywhere near Merle, for Christ sakes?" he asked befuddled.

"Because he wouldn't hurt her. Because he's your brother." Hope and despair simultaneously twinkled in her eyes.

He had always been defenseless against her blind faith in him. It had started back in the farm while searching for Sophia and, despite all the times he tried to shove her away after his ludicrous fiasco, it has always been a soothing constant in his life ever since; sure she never let him shut down completely, but he always gravitated towards her as well. "You know what I keep thinking every fuckin' moment, every fuckin' day?" He couldn't believe he was actually blurting this out, he had sworn to himself it was a personal matter he'd take to his grave, but his mouth moved with its own free will. "That I was closer than I thought. That I actually tracked her down. That she heard me callin' for her but was too fuckin' scared of me to reveal her hideout." He was spitting out every word, jaw clenched.

Carol cringed at the ferocity of all this needless pain. "Sophia wasn't afraid of you. Back then, I was," she huffed her impotence to distinguish what lied beneath his shell, "she wasn't. She didn't like you, for sure, but she definitely wasn't afraid of you."

"How do you know?"

"You had this little glaring contest of yours, didn't you?" she smiled at the memory. "Sophia could barely lay her eyes on Ed when Ed was in his best mood. Besides, she had told me she wanted to chide you for barking around."

It took him a while to reciprocate the smile and when he did it was still a bitter one. "And now you can't wait for a reunion with them all?" he murmured, eyes downcast.

She merely shook her head and the movement caught his attention again. "It's ridiculous, isn't it? All this loss, all this horror… And I still want to live."

"Of course you do. You're fool enough not to wanna leave us."

"You, mostly. You." She cupped his face, dried tears staining her cheeks and he had to fight back his urge to succumb to his slithering break down once more. "What are you gonna do with that "later" we were granted with, Daryl? No guarantees we're gonna have another one."

He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch the way he had longed to that same morning and never brought himself to. "I was supposed to dine in hell tonight and you were supposed to sleep in your bunk," he drawled, his entire body vibrating. "And look at us now. I'm fine and you-" Both his hands yanked to lock around her wrists. "Why couldn't you just fuckin' go? The freakin' window was just there, wide open and waitin'. What do you want me to say now?" he groaned, suffering from unbearable pain, though not the physical kind.

"I would have done the same," she stated solemnly.

"'Cause you're a fuckin' idiot," he croaked.

"Maybe. But I don't regret it."

Every nerve in his face jerked at the confession. "You didn't give me a say in this. I can't thank you for savin' my sorry ass if you've gone and got yourself infected," he grunted, hot, ragged breaths escaped his lips, scorching her face. "This was not _my_ fuckin' choice!" he bellowed his misery.

"I didn't do it for you." Carol slowly moved into his lap and he wrapped his arms around her, too caught up in his delirium to fully register their movements. She was sleepy beyond any sense, fighting to keep her head, weariness imprinted on the black circles enveloping her eyes.

"Who you do it for? The world?" he jibed.

She locked her arms around his neck, shaking. No point in holding back anymore, she didn't share his convictions about goodbyes, anyway. She wanted hers and she wanted them now; "laters" were too iffy to rely on. "Love is selfish, Daryl. I did it for me," she whispered, resting her forehead on his, nonchalant to the fact that she was tiptoeing on eggshells.

He froze. And stopped breathing. But didn't flinch or moved an inch. She pulled back a little to scope him out. A smile cracked on her mouth when he suddenly blushed. He had remembered the peck, the memory gushing into his bloodstream like a waterfall.

"Sorry about that," she said simply.

Daryl swallowed hard. "About what?" He almost gagged with his own saliva.

"About the thing you're blushing for." She bowed her head and planted another fleeting kiss on his lips.

"What are you doin'?" he murmured, pulling her closer, gradually aware that his words were in sharp contrast with his actions. And Daryl Dixon was never a man of words.

She kissed him again. "This is what I wanna do with our later. We might not have another one. You mind?"

He shook his head intensely.

Another peck. He still hadn't reciprocated, but snuggled her even closer.

"Is kissing me that awful?" she breathed against his lips.

Daryl huffed. "Not _that_ awful," he breathed back, realizing why it was that he didn't kiss her back. He was just too distracted savoring her kisses.

Carol eyed him fervently through her heavy, red-rimmed eyes, his expression giving away the conflicting thoughts of his mind, the undertone in his voice plain as daylight. But this time she didn't close the distance between them again; just waited.

He had no idea what to do. Abso-fuckin'-lutely no idea, the hammering thought that this might be their last chance clouded his mind, numbed his senses. He examined her arm again; that deep, uneven scratch was the spring of all their suffering.

"Rick said to wait at least until 4 a.m." she said.

His eyes darted to the clock. "It's midnight," he rasped.

They shared a hard look.

Daryl readjusted her in his arms, lowering and turning her so that she was cradled in his embrace. What if they only had tonight?

This time he planted a peck on her.

And then another one.

And another.

And then he lunged and claimed her mouth brutally.

When he drew back they were both panting.

"If I… I don't want you to be the one to-" Her voice wavered.

He hushed her immediately. "Don't even say it."

Carol stifled a yawn in his shoulder, drowsiness progressively taking over.

"Any chance you're interested in doing that again if I stick around long enough?" she asked, not sure what to expect.

"I'll do whatever you want. I'll kiss you all day long," Daryl squeezed her in his arms.

She beamed at him. "Promise?"

Daryl gasped. "Yeah. Yeah. Just don't die," he pleaded. "Don't leave me."

"I'll fight like hell, I swear. Like I did in that room, ok?"

He nodded, too overwhelmed with emotion to speak again, then stooped over her and kissed her again.

"God, you really know how to motivate a woman, don't you?" she teased, yawning.

"Sleep, smartass," he admonished her. "I'm here. Ain't goin' anywhere."

She closed her eyelids. "How am I doing?"

"You're warm."

"But not feverish?"

"But not feverish," he confirmed.

Carol dozed off in a flash, but it was as if time flowed in slow motion for Daryl. He fought back tears, physical and emotional exhaustion, fear and pain all night long.

But time was impervious to his agony. Seconds were ticking indolently, the intervals among the frivolous raps arched over consecutive, everlasting eras. He counted them, same way he counted her hollow breaths. One by one. Same way he kept his lips pressed on her forehead, sensing her temperature. Attentively. Time pounded him mercilessly and he took it all. Uncertainty waltzed around him and he whirled his head to the opposite direction. Darkness encompassed him and he clung to the reminiscence of Carol's sparkling eyes. Terror clenched his chest and he clenched his jaw in response. Survival screamed for him to run for the hills and he rooted his feet on the cement floor. Merle mocked him and he leered back. She curled in his arms and he tugged her tighter.

For a man like him, emotions were the enemies, just like walkers were Carol's biggest threat. Feelings were the wall he had to knock down to ascend to the next level, the way Carol had to face that tremendous assault alone. They had different hurdles, different barriers to overcome, different foes and rivals to win, different summits to conquer. Hers were obvious, his were subtle. Hers were deafening, his were silent. Yet, somehow, against all odds, as if by some wonder, they had both risen above the adversities in less than twenty-four hours.

It was 6 a.m when he scooped her up and headed to her cell. He had to be sure beyond any doubt, eliminate any infinitesimal chance.

The fuckin' scratch was just a fuckin' scratch.

* * *

**_Sooo… What do you think? Did the details click? I tried to throw in a giant twist over there!_**

**_The logic, again, was to follow a parallel to Part I: Impending disaster, Daryl snaps, Carol takes it, Daryl tries to guide her through. Only this time she's the one that actually supports him and amps him up the way he did in Part I. The concept was to compare the different kind of "battles" they both had to fight for each other… No clue if I made it, albeit this mini rant clearly suggests I'm afraid I didn't._**

**_Thank you all for being so unbelievably kind and awesome with me :) This collection of stories would be nothing without all this great support. I hope you realize how much I appreciate every single opinion and how much it affects the path the stories follow._**

**_Thank you for reading! Review to let me know what you think, I missed your precious feedback so much last time!_**

**_I'm a little out of ideas right now and don't know when the next post is going to be but I'll do my best not to keep you waiting._**


	25. Polaroid

**Summary:** When Maggie and Glenn go through their wedding photos, some interesting conclusions about Daryl and Carol's relationship might just pop up.

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**That took a while, I'm sorry. I hope you missed me :)**_

_**Nothing much to say, hope you like this one :) I find it kind of cute.**_

_**Meet me again at the end of this chapter. Some important questions are waiting for you there :)**_

**day678: Thank you so much for your kind words :)**

_**The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

They spent most of their personal time giggling, sounding more like chirping birds than grown-ups. Well, they were only in their early twenties, surviving a walker apocalypse and had still managed to thrive and find love and happiness in each other; that was all the excuse they usually invoked when caught in intimate moments in the guard tower during their infamous, alleged watch duties or waking up everyone at midnight with muffled moans. Instantly blushing like roguish brats arrested with their hand in the cookie jar whenever something like that happened, they both knew their best behavior would be short-lived nonetheless; a tiny detail the rest of the group acknowledged indulgently as well.

But Glenn and Maggie were married now; they had been married for more than forty-eight hours. The dispute about Maggie being a Rhee or Glenn being a Greene was on-going, expanded and involved every single person in prison and had soon turned into feminism versus sexism open debate - the outcome of which was yet ambivalent and inconclusive. Glenn had appealed to tradition and the men took his side, but Maggie protested that a new era equals a new order and was triumphantly backed up by the women.

Not that it was something bugging them these last two days as they spent their honeymoon in one of the auxiliary constructions surrounding the main prison building.

Maggie was lying flat on her belly, her chin tucked in her hands as the photos of their wedding were scattered all around her on the cool cement floor that provided a minimum sense of relief from the suffocating, muggy Georgian summer. No doubt that Polaroid was by far the best wedding present she and Glenn had received. It helped them capture that unique moment of sheer happiness in a bleak, gory reality full of death and groaning walkers. That was the ultimate post-apocalyptic gift, a perfect reminiscence that their fucked up lives were still worth fighting for.

Carol's pestering to Daryl to let her join him for a run made perfect sense to Maggie now. She had stepped up at some point, chiding her that no matter how awesome the gift she had in mind was, it sure as hell wasn't worth risking her life for, but Carol only sulked and kept muttering to Daryl with reinforced persistence. He had repeatedly refused to take her with him, with adamant stubbornness equal to hers, but one night he had returned and handed her a box. Carol squealed when she checked the contents and he had just sprawled in a chair, savoring the sense of being her personal hero in armor smeared of sweat and blood with a swaggering smugness Maggie had never seen before in his crooked smile, as if the whole, doomed world had acquired a new meaning through Carol's glowing eyes. It was the Polaroid they had used at their wedding in that box, Carol's idea and Daryl's execution.

They had taken more photos than she could actually count and now she was scoping them out, biting her lip. She needed an ally, a male one. Glenn was the obvious choice. Not that it wasn't something she knew for a while now, but right at that moment she finally had tangible evidence spread out in front of her, enough to convince everyone else. Maggie quickly culled more than half of them in a pile and left the rest strung out randomly on the floor when Glenn came back with their lunch.

After reciprocating his passionate kiss, she motioned towards the pictures on the floor. "Tell me what you see in those pictures."

Glenn rubbed his furrowed brow. "Um… Us?"

"It's our wedding photos, dummy!" She nudged him playfully. "_We_ don't count!"

He kept scanning them, seeming completely at a loss.

"Oh, come on," Maggie exclaimed. "Tell me which is the common denominator in them all."

Glenn chuckled. "Common denominator?"

"What can I say, pizza boy? You married a college girl."

"You think you're a real catch, huh?" he sneered as convincingly as he could.

"I'm pretty good," she taunted him. "But you ain't that bad yourself."

After closer examination, he saw her point and sighed his objection and disapproval. Glenn hated sticking his nose in other people's affair. He hated sticking his nose in Daryl Dixon's personal matters and his peevish temper even more. Not that Maggie was nosy, not at all; she always knew when to turn her gaze to allow someone a private moment, when to exit a room not to overhear a discussion that didn't apply to her or when to stop asking questions that made somebody uncomfortable. She was never prying into stranger's affairs or went on the prowl of new gossip material. Her problem was Daryl and Carol; it was very targeted, particular and concrete. An obsession over the fact that these two were insanely in love with each other and kept fooling themselves for the opposite, Daryl at least.

Glenn shook his head in despair. She never quit his girl, kept teasing both of them with naughty comments and innuendos till she almost got an arrow in the ass; he could swear last week he stormed between her retreating figure and Daryl just a moment before he catapulted one. And it would be a true shame; Maggie's ass was perfection, impeccable, awesome.

She instantly scowled at his depreciating look. "Don't fight me on this one, Glenn," she said dryly, holding him a photo. "What do you see here?"

"Karen with her arms all over him," Glenn smirked despite himself. "Poor Daryl, he's so tense, he seems ready to tackle her and bolt to the woods."

Maggie raised her eyebrow. "Poor Daryl? Poor Daryl?" she bellowed her indignation. "What about poor Carol?"

Glenn sighed heavily. He couldn't deny it. Carol seemed ready to burst into tears in that photo, her eyes fixed on the woman stroking Daryl, not even squinting at the camera.

He opened his mouth to defend his neutral stance but Maggie never gave him the chance, pitching another picture in his lap. "What about this one?" she insisted, wide-eyed.

"Is that a glare?" He fought against it, but in the end he couldn't resist. Daryl was shooting Tyreese a murderous look, the former leaning over a laughing Carol.

Maggie giggled, tossing her hands up. "I think it is!"

Glenn glanced up at her incredulously.

"Let me explain," she ranted. "I was in the kitchen, the afternoon before the wedding…"

* * *

_She was painting her nails on the kitchen table, her shaky fingers obviously sabotaging the task in hand._

"_Will you let me do that for you, honey? You're clearly failing!" Carol was standing in the doorway, grinning ear to ear._

"_Never miss an eye socket with a knife, but I can't aim at a nail with a brush," Maggie frowned, removing the nail polish from her smeared fingers. "Wow, you look great."_

_Carol walked over to the counter, already dressed up in her red dress and silver pumps, gracious and glowing from happiness. "Not even close to how beautiful you look," she smiled._

"_Has Daryl seen you like this?" Yeah, like there was a chance she wouldn't make a comment about that._

_Carol was arranging some of the dishes for later, the open cupboard hiding her head as she reeled off the culinary in order. "Really?" she snickered at Maggie's comment. "Even today?"_

_Maggie scowled again; the distraction was more than welcome today let alone that Daryl's underdeveloped social skills were one of her favorite topics. "I don't know what's wrong with me..." she mumbled._

"_Nothing's wrong with you, honey," Carol offered reassuringly, still occupied with the preparations. "I'd be more worried if a bride didn't get cold feet before her wedding."_

"_I couldn't get any shut eye last night. I'm so nervous I act like I don't wanna marry Glenn," Maggie confessed, full of guilt._

_Carol shook her head. "I'm sure that right now Glenn is sweating himself to dehydration over the same fears."_

"_But we are doing the right thing, ain't we? I mean… What are two people so much in love with each other supposed to do? But then again, what if this all wrong?" She threaded her fingers through her hair. "Does getting married even make sense in this world anymore?"_

_Carol listened patiently, letting her rave freely to take the burden off her chest, but before she got the chance to soothe her fears, the clomping sound of heavy boots thudded in the hallway and came to a standstill in the entrance._

"_Well, you get bored of him, you put a bullet in his head. Problem solved," Daryl rumbled. "No courts and jail and shit anymore." He had noticed a woman standing behind the cupboard as he offered Maggie a crooked smile, he just hadn't thought twice that this woman might have been the one he was searching for._

"_Thank you, Daryl, for your input." The cupboard closed, revealing a genial Carol. _

_His breath caught in his throat. Never had he seen her in a dress before. She looked… wow. His eyes darted momentarily to the deep V neck and the bulge of her breasts beneath, before he regained control and glanced up at her, blushing like hell. _

"_I know, I keep telling her to wear dresses more often," Maggie tittered shamelessly at his obvious embarrassment. "Wanna check her out, wait till she turns her back." This time she received a glare from Carol._

"_Don't mind her. She's babbling today," she shrugged it off, casually touching his arm, trying to ignore the sudden flush in her cheeks that his piercing gaze ignited._

"_Bullshit. She's always…" Daryl bristled, but a lifted hand shut his mouth effectively._

"_Today is the wedding. No fighting. No tempers. It's their day. They get to do and say whatever they want," Carol chastised him gently._

"_What about tomorrow?" he grunted._

_She released a loud laugh, making his heart twinge. "Tomorrow's as good a day as any to go back to telling her off."_

_Daryl eyed her sheepishly, his poor conversational skills spiraling downwards in proportion to her stunning face. Riled up with Maggie for a minute he felt he might be saved by the bell, but now Maggie had picked the worst fuckin' post apocalyptic moment to shut that yapping mouth of hers and he was pinned in his place by Carol's blue, warm eyes; the reason he went there in the first place completely evading him as his eyelids flapped repeatedly. Reality failed to ground him but so did words. He knew he had to say something. Fuck. He wanted to say something. Some kind of compliment that indeed, she did look great. She was breathtaking, beautiful in that… Not that she wasn't always, just this time she really looked like something else._

"_How can I help you?" she asked when he remained silent, barely masking her disappointment._

"_Glenn needs a new razor," he grumbled, his mind still racing to catch up with his mouth. "And… And I don't know what to wear," he stuttered, nervously biting his thumbnail._

"_Sleeves all the way," Maggie chipped in again. "It IS my wedding!"_

_Carol's face dropped, knowing that these words echoed like a death sentence in his head. "You heard the bride…"_

"_It's god damned hot as hell out there," he frowned big time._

"_I've put some new shirts in your bunk. The fabric is really thin. And I can roll them up for you and everyone's gonna be happy," Carol offered, the last phrase fading in a conspiratorial whisper._

_He nodded again and gritted his teeth, determined to let her know what he thought about that dress once and for all, but almost swallowed his tongue when he whirled around to trace the voice that uttered his very opinion out of the blue._

"_Lady, you really can make a red dress glow." Tyreese was leaning against the wall, his arms folded against his chest._

_Carol bowed her head, not sure how to react to his courting. "I think it's the other way around," she shrugged but her lips twitched upwards._

"_No, it ain't. This dress would be nothing but a simple dress on anyone else."_

_Daryl saw red, rage started boiling inside him. Why couldn't he say half of these compliments? He believed them. He felt cheated, as if freaking Tyreese was simply articulating his own thoughts. Why wasn't he the one to let her know how beautiful she was?_

_Tyreese moved closer to them and squeezed her shoulder, causing Daryl to ball his fists. "Your plus one is one lucky son of a bitch, Carol," he winked._

_Daryl fumed, but Carol chuckled wholeheartedly this time._

_Maggie reached out to get the Polaroid from the other side of the table. A small test before the wedding to see if it operated properly was more than necessary. She turned the camera towards the unlikely trio at the other side of the kitchen at that very moment._

"_Oh, my God! I had no idea I needed an escort," Carol exclaimed in mock despair."I'm a big girl, Tyreese. Plus one is not mandatory at my age."_

"_Well, you need at least someone for the first dance." He eyed her meaningfully, hand stretched out._

_Daryl felt the need to punch the guy as his gaze drifted cautiously over Carol who was now biting her lip, her eyes inspecting cautiously the other man._

"_That you do, lady! You're not getting away from that," Maggie encouraged and Daryl cussed under his breath._

"_I guess I'll see you on the dance floor, then."_

* * *

"Maggie, are you sure you're not imagining things, baby?"

This time sweet talk was off the table for Glenn as she openly glared down on him.

"I'm not saying you're crazy, just that you interpret random facts the way you want," he elaborated, trying his best to avoid the first married fit.

"Quit the crap, Glenn," Maggie growled. "Why is me being delusional more plausible than them being in love? Damn it, Glenn! Do you have one solid argument? Have you ever watched them around each other? Do you even know that the newcomers from Woodbury thought they were married for Christ sakes?"

Glenn's mind drifted and he seemed spaced out for a moment.

"What?"

"You know…" he muttered, sorting out three photos from the pile. "I think I got these myself."

"You did. I remember, because I was dancing with Rick and Carol was dancing with Tyreese and we switched and I told you to take some more."

He nodded slowly as a blurry memory rushed into his mind. "I was drinking with Daryl, right? The weirdest thing happened… Shit, I was so drunk I can't remember…"

* * *

_Glenn staggered his way towards the wall, only a few feet away from the makeshift dance floor where most of the prison residents were swaying. Daryl was already there, handling a bottle of booze and sipping it quickly, eyes red-rimmed and fixed somewhere among the crowd in front. He had drunk a lot already; it was evident even for another drunk like Glenn._

"_You don't get to scowl at my wedding, Dixon. I'm the one who got hitched." He pointed his index finger to Daryl's chest, doing his best not to slur._

_Daryl cringed. "Not all of us have a death wish, boy."_

"_Did you dance at all tonight or just stayed here glaring at everyone?"_

"_Your nagging, pain in the ass wife wouldn't get off my back until she made a complete fool of me," Daryl grumbled._

_Glenn was impressed; his ill-mannered, prickly friend sounded way more talkative with some whiskey flooding his veins. And his comment was spot-on; Glenn had witnessed the freaky scene and he could almost hear Daryl's jaw clench in a dispute with himself on whether spanking a bride at her wedding is proper behavior or not. Carol had interfered before the situation derailed and shunted him gently towards the bride. Why would Daryl Dixon comply with her will without a second thought was just one of the universe's greatest mysteries to Glenn. "Yeah. That sounds like Maggie."_

"_Yeah," Daryl echoed him, quirking an eyebrow. "Good luck with that."_

"_So, that was all? One dance?"_

"_I might have to dance with the bride but the rest can go to hell," he sneered._

"_What about Carol?" He had no idea why he blurted her name out, right in the hunter's face. He was actually ready to apologize and rant about alcohol's repercussions to a person's sanity when he watched Daryl's eyes narrow and drift back to the dance floor._

"_Pfff… You mean the drunkard over there?" he growled. "Hasn't plopped herself down all night long." He almost blundered out how she couldn't get enough of the big guy's hands around her, but zipped his mouth just in time._

_Glenn rolled his eyes. "That's the point of having a wedding, Daryl. Fun!"_

"_I'm having fun," he muttered._

"_Why don't you ask her to dance?" Glenn tried again. God, whiskey made him dauntless, didn't it?_

"_Ain't the dancing type," Daryl grumped. "Besides, she's busy." He spat each word surly._

"_If I didn't know any better I'd say you sound jealous." There it was again. Fearless, a true hero._

"_It's happening already," Daryl hissed, eyeing him angrily. "You sound like your crazy wife."_

_It was the moment Maggie released herself from Rick's embrace, lashed herself into Carol and whispered something inaudible to them in her ear, waving and yelling at Glenn to get some shots. Next thing, they exchanged partners, Maggie leaping into Tyreese's arms and Carol swinging around with Rick._

"_See?" Glenn motioned. "She's dancing with Rick now. Maybe you still got some time before Tyreese makes another claim on her." Maybe, just maybe, that was over the line, though, even for a very woozy Dixon._

_Next thing he knew, Daryl was all over his face. "One fuckin' night, groom," he barked. "Tomorrow you won't be the groom and Maggie won't be the bride and there won't be any wedding and I get to kick some asses."_

"_Ok, I'll give you that," Glenn mumbled, raising his hands defensively. "She does seem a little tipsy. But so do you." He retreated a couple of steps behind, reiterating in his mind that precautionary measures were never a waste, especially when being a smartass with a Dixon._

"_Oh, shut the fuck up already," Daryl snarled._

_Glenn swallowed hard but held his ground. "Jesus, Daryl, it's just a freaking dance!"_

"_Wanna dance, go dance," Daryl said composed again, voice gruff._

"_Can't right now," Glenn whispered his sacred secret. "I'm the drunk one here. Everything's been spinning around for a while now."_

_Daryl stifled a giggle despite himself; Glenn and Maggie were among his favorite members of the group, he couldn't fight it. "Better slow down then. That girl of yours ain't gonna be happy if you spend your wedding night snoring like a bear."_

"_Don't worry about me. I'll live up to the challenge."_

_Carol hopped gracefully towards them, clasping Daryl's hand and dragging him off for a dance. He resisted weakly enough to not discourage her and glowered begrudgingly. Glenn grasped the whiskey from his hand and gave him a final shove towards her. _

"_Speaking of challenges…"_

* * *

Maggie gawked at him in disbelief. "Jesus Christ, baby! Wanna know what I whispered in her ear over there? I told her "A certain redneck's been feasting on you with his eyes all night long. Go drag him onto the dance floor."

"Shit!"

"And look at this one here," she yelled, tipping on another picture. "Look how they look at each other."

It was there; once again, Glenn couldn't deny it. Daryl Dixon, who was scowling and frowning and grumping at the groom two minutes earlier, was smirking crookedly at the woman in his arms.

And there was another one with Carol dangling her heels from her fingers, beaming at him. And another one from when they exchanged vows that Daryl had his eyes fixed on her in the background. And then another. And in the end there were just too many.

"So, I guess the first step to bringing them together is to get them drunk, then," Maggie shrugged.

Glenn still thought it was a bad idea. "Ok, baby, I admit you got a point here," he stated guardedly, extracting a smile from his wife. "But Daryl would never do anything. No way. Drunk or not," he emphasized.

"My girl is a racehorse," Maggie declared solemnly.

Glenn remained silent for a moment, contemplating on whether to take up the gauntlet or make sure they both survived another day, but in the end, it was just too challenging to resist. "Well, if we're in a racetrack and Daryl is my horse, I'm telling you, you cheated me with the emotionally crippled, old stallion."

Maggie snorted a laugh. "I believe that my racehorse can shake your stallion's butt," she saild slyly and watched Glenn's jaw slacken. "If we get Carol to make the first move, she'll figure a way to coax the reaction we want out of him."

"I believe that nothing can get that decrepit off his ass," he insisted uncompromisingly.

She pursued her lips. "Is it on then?"

"What?" He huffed. "A bet?"

Maggie leered wickedly and shuffled closer, straddling him. "The winner keeps their name. The loser takes the winner's name."

"Sounds like a deal, Ms. Rhee," Glenn moaned, wrapping his arms around her.

"Don't get overexcited, Mr. Greene."

* * *

_**I'm wondering who would win this bet…**_

_**What do you think about that? Do you want a sequel or get back to the drama? Although this must come with the warning, that there's some major drama coming up.**_

_**Thank you all for reading :) A review would be much appreciated.**_

10


	26. Last Name

**Summary: **Maggie and Glenn have a little bet. If they manage to get Carol and Daryl drunk enough to hook up, Glenn will become Mr. Greene. If not, Maggie will be Mr. Rhee.

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**I think I may have confused you about the bet here. The bet is not about who is going to make the first move, Daryl or Carol. It's whether they get to make out at all. That Carol will be the one to initiate it is kind of a given. So, if there's a kiss that doesn't end up in a huge drama along the way, Maggie wins no matter what :) I hope it's clear now. I'm sorry for the mess… Poor language skills get the better of me sometimes :(**_

_**That said, you know re-reading the Polaroid is optional, though strongly recommended.**_

_**I can't believe all the love these stories get from you :) I wish I could hug each one of you separately. You make my days bright! Don't ever leave me!**_

_**The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

_Carol_

She wasn't fearless. She feared for each one of them constantly. She feared for him every single time he stepped outside the prison fence. She feared rejection. She feared that she wouldn't have what it took to overcome _his_ rejection. She feared that the one dance they shared was a huge mistake. She feared that she would lose him, one way or another; either by making a move on him or by another charming, female presence. She feared that she was losing him already.

She didn't want to play him, but she did want to seduce him. She didn't want to trick him into a kiss or something more, but she did want to feel his body against hers. She didn't want to force him, but she did want a definitive answer in this never-ending game between them. She didn't want to scheme on his detriment behind his back, but she did want to put an end to this frolic before it became ugly.

She knew she was in love with him. But fearlessly in love with him? That was debatable. And she had a long night duty watch to contemplate on her next move, if there was going to be one at all, with the half full bottle of whiskey Maggie had left with her. How she had consumed all this alcohol again, it completely evaded her. Barely recalling Maggie blindsiding her and handing her the bottle before droning on and on about Karen and how she kept hitting on Daryl presumptuously, all she registered was a sultry dryness in her mouth she _had_ to rinse away with the only liquid immediately available around.

_Daryl_

Of course he had avoided her, even the slightest doubt that he wouldn't turn tail and run after dancing with her echoed absurd in his mind. He honestly believed she must have been crazy to expect otherwise and it riled him up beyond any reason that she looked so hurt about it. He wouldn't indulge in getting knotted up in a discussion of feelings, no matter what. Besides, it might be nothing but a capricious desire for her, a whim. Not that she was that kind of person, of course, not at all. But… Fuck, there was a reason Dixons didn't do feelings. A crystal clear, perfect, solid reason. They sucked at it.

Not that he could get even remotely close to her without crossing paths with _him_. Fuckin' Tyreese. He wanted to punch the guy. And he had absolutely no reason, or even idle excuse, to pick up a fight with him. Fuckin' Tyreese was fuckin' perfect; had he been a chick, he would have fallen for him in a flash. Not that Carol was a nitwit, bleached-brain chick, of course, not at all. But… Fuck, he wanted to collide his balled fist with the fucker's nose with a perfect clout only to feel the cartilage shatter against his knuckles.

And Glenn was an idiot, no doubt. Why else would he vex him with all that senseless jabber about Tyreese and Carol and the possible, or probable, or fuckin' plausible pairing between them? He didn't care. Or he shouldn't. Well, he _wouldn't_ anyway and that was all. At least the kid had the provision to bring some whiskey before chewing his ear off and his mouth was busy for a while. And this newly assigned night watch was a good twist. It would help him clean his mind. It would keep him away from her before he kicked that freakin' cell door and… Fuck.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" he growled.

She held his narrowed gaze evenly, goggling her eyes and tossing her hands in the air. "Watch?"

"Glenn said he had watch and sent me to replace him," he said coldly.

"Maggie said the same to me," she retorted in the same tone. "Stop glaring at me like I stole your crossbow, Daryl. I'm sure it was an honest mistake." Maybe that was it. Her chance. No planning, no games, no strategic moves.

Daryl shot her a blazing look. "You sure you had nothing to do with that honest mistake?" Damn. He would have sounded so much harsher if he wasn't reeling with his fingers tightly curled around a bottle neck.

* * *

"_You realize we're as good as dead the moment they notice us skulking here, right?" Glenn whispered in her ear._

"_Oh, I know, baby." Maggie looked at him dead in the eye. "Believe me; I can almost feel that arrow slicing my butt."_

_They were in the middle of the walker apocalypse, wedding or not, bet or not. It's not like either of them could afford losing a limb or stay in bed for long. And Daryl Dixon never missed a shot, drunk or not._

"_Tomorrow there will be an arrow with my name on it," Glenn chuckled. "But I will jump between you and every arrow to save that amazing butt of yours!"_

_Maggie winked. "You are so getting lucky later!"_

* * *

"Why don't you just go back? I got this covered." She tried her best to glare back at him and his premature insults, but her surroundings were so blurry her chances of glaring instead of squinting seemed quite slim.

"Pfff…" He leaned against the railing, willing his knees to stop buckling.

"Or you can just stay and pretend I don't exist," Carol muttered, puckering her lips like a peeved child. "You seem to be so good at it these days."

Fuck, yeah. And that's exactly how he intended to keep it. His freaking life was so much less complicated without her sauntering and worming her way into his brain to the point he was gasping for air. "Dunno what you're talking about," he blurted, cussing the alcohol for getting the better of him and his self control.

"You haven't said a single word to me since the wedding. No one put a gun to your head to dance with me." Her eyes were narrowed, partly from the effort to focus, partly due to thoroughly scavenging for any auspicious omen in his stance.

He drained the last drips of his whiskey and spun around to give her a nice piece of his mind and get things settled once and for all, but the sight of her blue, fuzzy, slightly uncoordinated gaze hurled a twinge in his gut and suddenly he was lost for words again. And he shouldn't have whirled so abruptly, anyway, because now he came to a halt but his fuckin' surroundings were still swirling. "Anything left inside that bottle of yours?"

Nope. Definitely nothing friendly there.

"Yep." Carol was just swallowing down a sip. She flicked her gaze on him and felt her airway block at his flaming eyes. Booze made her bold and daring and a bit sassy and she had only discovered it at the wedding. Ed never let her drink, like he never let her do anything for fun, but she kind of enjoyed this recently revealed, saucy woman lurking in her veins. "But I don't share," she drawled, her tongue lingering on the bottle only a second too much. "Not tonight."

Daryl's lips parted instinctively and he licked them before he could restrain himself, desire flooding his veins like a jolt of electricity. Damn woman. He stumbled closer to her, despite the firm commands springing from his brain to bolt, motioning towards the bottle.

"Go back, Daryl," she quirked an eyebrow, bluffing precariously.

"Ain't going nowhere," he grunted. "Gimme the bottle." Fuck. What was happening? What was she doing to him?

Instead of handing the bottle over to his outstretched fingers, she clasped his hand with her free one and dragged him down, mustering all her physical stamina, until his knees thudded on the cement floor. She allowed him the shit storm of swearing that spurted from his mouth, further bolstered by her stifled giggles. "You let a girl beat you, Daryl?"

"You're drunk," he yelled, but finally slouched against the wall next to her. All he needed to regain some fuckin' control was for the world to stop spinning like crazy and for her to disappear. And oxygen. He needed oxygen and he couldn't suck enough.

"You're drunk, too," she countered dryly.

"No, I ain't."

"I still don't understand why you make such a big deal of this," she kept ranting, once she felt him relax, taking a deep breath. "Besides it's not like you're the only guy I danced with."

He snorted. Of course he wasn't. He was barely one of the guys she danced with and didn't know if that one swing even counted since she had spent the whole fuckin' night swaying in Tyreese's arms. Daryl yanked an arm to pinch the booze, but gripped only air. Shit, why was everything moving so swiftly?

"Is that what this is all about?" she deadpanned, quaffing more alcohol, as if all her courage derived from inside that little bottle opening.

Daryl clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring from the effort not to lash out at her and resist the compulsive urge to cup her face and slam himself against her and... Fuck. "You're drunk," he hissed again, still trying to snatch the bottle she kept away from him.

"Oh, yes, I am. You have no idea," Carol huffed, shuffling away from him, surprised to see him scooting over her again. "Is that what this is about?" she whispered, tiptoeing on eggshells and not giving a freaking damn. "Tyreese?"

His mind flipped at the sound of that name. "I don't give a fuck about the guy," he barked, jostling her until she was knocked down flat. He landed clumsily on top of her, causing her to gasp and curled his fingers tightly around hers on the bottle's neck, heart hammering against his chest, elbows vibrating and gut twisted from something he could swear wasn't alcohol.

They locked gazes and remained still for a moment, sharing a hard look. "What about me? You give a fuck about me?" she breathed in his face and watched him digging his teeth in his lower lip.

He almost swooned when her burning breath scorched his skin, suddenly too aware of their physical proximity, the one he had caused by hovering over her, almost straddling her. As his eyes drifted to her wet, trembling lips, he actually released a soft moan. "What do you want?" he grumbled, embarrassed when he watched her mouth twitch in a cocky smirk.

"I want to know if you're pissed because I dragged you to dance or because I was dancing with Tyreese all night long," she croaked.

* * *

"_Hey, Maggie…"_

"_What now?"_

"_This is a stupid bet, I don't like it."_

"_What?" She glowered at him, brow furrowed._

"_I'm rooting for them but I have bet my last name that they're not hooking up no matter what." Glenn shrugged. "It doesn't make any sense."_

"_It's not like you don't want them to, you just don't believe they will. As far as good intentions go, you're pretty much covered."_

"_Still," he muttered. "It feels wrong."_

"_Glenn Rhee, are you chickening out? Because, I'm telling you, if you do, that's just a shortcut to become Mr. Greene."_

_Glenn frowned, still chewing his nail. "Please, Maggie…"_

"_Tell me. Is the bet still on or not?" she kept pushing._

"_On… I guess," he complied begrudgingly._

* * *

Shoveling the bottle off her grip, he drew back, tipping against the wall again with the flickering hope that the cold cement would help him cool off a bit. "You're out of your mind lady," he snorted, bringing the bottle to his mouth, gulping the alcohol greedily until he cringed.

Carol propped up on her elbows, eyeing him sheepishly, disappointment threatening to scrunch all over her ostensibly composed expression as all her pent-up insecurities hit the surface at once.

"Should have seen this shit coming a long time ago," he went on in the same, gruff tone, brushing his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You mean you'd be happy for me if anything happened between me and him?" This was her last attempt to sound confident and in control, but the sinister glittering in his eyes made her voice quiver and her chest ache.

"Wouldn't care," Daryl sneered. "None of my fuckin' business," he drawled emphatically, experiencing a feral triumph at the hurt wave that spread across her face. All this time he felt she had been humiliating him on purpose. Well, pay back is a bitch. "Not happy, not sad." Maybe that was enough, though; tears were welling up in her eyes and he felt like a jerk. No way Carol would try to make a fool of him and, on second thought, that wasn't joy swirling in his stomach; it was nausea at the sound of the hurtful, shameless lies he spat in her face. "Just do what the fuck it is you want." Fuck, why wouldn't he stop already? He had witnessed the effects the alcohol has on her, but was now abruptly aware of the effects it had on him. In the pre-apocalyptic world, it turned him into Merle's bravado brother. In the post-apocalyptic world, it turned him into a mean chatterbox, unable to control his yapping hole.

Carol scrambled on her feet, wiping her eyes. That was beyond fiasco. "Ok," she whispered solemnly, the hiccup that jolted her chest sabotaging her effort vicariously.

A wicked smile cracked all over his face. "Yeah, you go hiccup all over him. Let me know how it goes," he leered slyly.

Pouting and mustering all her courage to unglue herself off the cement, ignoring her blurry vision, she towered over him. "Goodnight, Daryl."

Fear nested in the center of his stomach, writhing around, like a ball of poorly digested food. His calloused hand gripped her wrist and she was jerked back on spot. "Where are you going?"

"I might take up your sweet advice," she snapped.

"And do what?" he growled, painfully squeezing her wrist.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you didn't care," she countered, choked by anger and humiliation.

"I don't," he snarled.

"Will you let go of my hand then?" She was fighting tooth and nail to break the unyielding clutch.

"You can't do anything tonight. You're drunk. Wait till tomorrow." At least he was barking outwardly, concealing his inner strain not to flat out plead with her to stay.

"I'm counting on being drunk," she admitted pathetically.

His grip tightened even more. "Is that how horny you are?" he growled, anger swelling inside him.

This time her rage overwhelmed everything. Dizziness, hurt, rejection, lust, they all subsided as a tidal wave of pure fiery and wrath gushed into her veins, accompanied by an over blast of adrenaline. She yanked her hand free, only to lose her balance by the momentum of her movement and almost topple over, oblivious to the fact that he had already apologized more than once.

"Stop! Stop!" Strong arms wrapped around and kept her upright, but she didn't give up fighting. "I said I'm sorry."

Carol didn't surrender her kicking and squirming in his arms and in the end he tackled her on the ground. And then he was on top of her again. Jesus Christ. Was that a fuckin' loop or something? No matter what he did, they would end up like this until his head exploded? And where was this freaking heart attack? He knew it was wriggling in his chest, filching beats away from him; why wouldn't it just squish him a bit tighter and forward him to hell sooner rather than later.

"Say you're drunk too," Carol croaked again, out of breath from the on-going fight, muscles stiff and sanity spent from the alcohol and his closeness.

"I'm drunk too," he rasped, readjusting his body to nail her effectively.

"And an asshole."

"And an asshole."

"And jealous."

"I ain't."

"And you want to kiss me."

"I don't," he grunted.

"Then why are you still on top of me?"

Fuck. Why was he still on top of her? Why wasn't his body moving to release her? She could go wherever the fuck she wanted to go. None of his business. On the other hand, he had lied shamelessly about not wanting to kiss her. His mouth was getting dry at the sight of her inviting eyes, her fingers curled around his shirt.

Carol felt her face ache under his piercing gaze, drifting between her eyes and mouth. She was heaving beneath him not knowing what to do, clueless on what to expect especially when his fingertips started tracing her cheekbone.

He lowered his head and she lifted hers simultaneously, in meek need of each other's taste.

"Ouch," she moaned painfully as their foreheads whacked together and she recoiled backwards.

Daryl peeled himself off her, startled by how reluctantly his body seemed to conform to his inner orders. "Fuck," he muttered, gritting his teeth. "You ok?" The impact was next to nothing for him, his skull being nothing short of a rock. Even Merle used to bitch him around about it.

"No," she whimpered and then she burst into laughter, giggling and shaking violently as if it was the most hilarious thing ever happened to her. It kind of was actually.

Was this music? Shit, he was so hopeless. Carol was giggling on the perch and he heard music; music like birds chirping and brooks babbling and leaves rattling and… His stomach churned, alcohol and desire didn't mix well for him after all. "Bet you got yourself a bump, smartass," he rumbled.

"You don't seem very much hurt yourself," she snorted, between panting for air and weeping.

Daryl shrugged. "Wanna hurt me, you're gonna have to try harder than that." Watching her still rolling on the floor and kicking the air he eventually succumbed to the temptation and allowed himself a gargling chuckle. "What the fuck are you laughing about? You almost cracked your empty head open."

As her laughter subsided, they locked eyes again. Carol was still lying on the ground, squinting to clear her view, never managing to locate his facial features with an accuracy of less than four eyes. He was almost a foot away from her now, he had six eyes. Blue. At least that was standard. Daryl leaned heavily against the wall, narrowing his gaze as well; she had only two eyes but she wouldn't stop spinning around. And she looked like a beautiful tornado. Was it normal or even remotely healthy to find a tornado beautiful, let alone want to kiss it? His hand was mindlessly groping for the bottle in an attempt to maintain his distance from her.

"Hey, that's mine!" she exclaimed once he pawed it.

Daryl shrugged. "Finders, keepers."

"You're a common snatcher now, Dixon?" She clambered on her knees and crawled towards him, snaking her way between his sprawled legs with an audacity she had no idea was seething in her bloodstream, eyes transfixed on his face and his slackened jaw. Distracted beyond any reason, he snapped out of his daze only when he registered the bottle in her own hands. "Finders, keepers," she shrugged.

"What the fuck you think you're doing?" He frowned.

"Getting my boo-booze back," she slurred, stooping over him. Close, too close. Inhaling sharply, she took the leap of faith, deciding to kiss him and deal with the repercussions later, so she just sealed her eyes and let go, only to collide clumsily with the corner of his mouth. Daryl held his breath, the previous frown effectively turning into a scowl and Carol sighed, backing up and bowing her head. Time to leave; she had lost count of her recurring and serial chagrins tonight, pretty sure they were asymptotically approaching infinity.

She hauled on her feet, adjusting and untwisting her creased clothes, casting peeks at Daryl who was avoiding her gaze with religious deference, his lips pressed into a firm, thin line. "Goodnight, Daryl," she whispered defeated. Was that a déjà-vu or this scene had played over again that night?

"You're on watch," he grated at her retreating back.

"I'm confident you can take over," she muttered, staggering to the staircase and tumbled her way down.

He cussed under his breath and dragged his ass off the ground, pacing back and forth and rubbing his fuzziness away with the heels of his hands, completely at a loss. Suddenly, he felt his body taking control, watched his boot scuff the perch and next thing he knew, he was marching in the same direction Carol had disappeared with long, determined strides. He caught up with her at the bottom of the stairs, grabbed her from the elbow and swirled her around to face him, not talking, just growling.

"I just wanna go somewhere where I'm welcome," she confessed.

"Who said you're not?" he grunted.

"Pfff…" She sneered, raising her eyebrow and handing him the bottle. "Keep the booze."

"What the fuck?"

"What do you want?" she snapped.

Daryl was yelling right in her face now. "Don't go back there."

"You don't get to tell me what to do," she yelled back.

He turned around and hurled the bottle underneath the watch tower with every ounce of strength he possessed, hearing it shattering in splinters. "Fuck," he barked.

* * *

_The bottle whizzed like an arrow, only inches away from Glenn's face and Maggie leapt at him, hugging him tightly. _

"_Oh my God, he really is gonna kill us one way or another," she whispered, momentarily not sure whether the lethally flying bottle against her husband was intentionally aimed at him or not. _

_It was Daryl Dixon, after all. She wouldn't be surprised._

* * *

Carol flinched but held her ground. "Is that supposed to scare me?"

"Did it work?" he retorted, slamming her against his chest.

"No. Let me go." Parched lips crashed on hers, brutal and hungry, and she reclined back from the brunt of his attack, the only barrier between her back and the ground his steel arm around her waist.

"Is that what you want?" he breathed when they broke the kiss, heaving, just inches away from her still parted lips.

Even in the semi darkness of the kerosene lamp, she could distinguish his face turning tomato red. "Uh-huh," she moaned and then sighed, striving to focus on his four eyes against her dizziness. "If only I was the only one drunk here."

"I'm not dr-drunk," he chanted again and chuckled involuntarily at the stuttering that mocked his confident statement.

As his hot breath swept sensationally in her mouth, she swooned hard and he swiftly hoisted her over his shoulder, climbing two stairs at a time. "No more stumbling around for you tonight, boozer."

* * *

_Maggie released a muffled squeal and clapped her hands soundlessly. Glenn's face dropped and he sulked immediately._

"_What?" she protested. "That's a good thing, right?"_

"_For them," Glenn mumbled. "Not for me."_

_Maggie was glaring at him. "Next time choose your racehorse wisely. I bet on the shoo-in from the beginning."_

"_I can't be Glenn Greene, Maggie. It's horrible!"_

"_Loser! Loser!"_

"_I want a do-over"_

"_There are no do-overs, Glenn Greene! Glenn Gleene! Grrenn Gle-Greene," she stammered._

"_See? You can't even repeat it twice," he grumped._

_And they delved into their arguments and taunting respectively, too preoccupied to keep silent._

* * *

Daryl registered the squeaky grinding of shoes against the arid summery soil beneath the guard tower the moment he landed her back on her feet, trying to steady her against him as she still swayed. Carol opened her mouth to say something but he muzzled her immediately, shushing her with wide eyes and a finger in his mouth. They were both stone still for a few seconds, hearkening even for the slightest sound with narrowed eyes, clinging to each other, hearts racing in sync. Someone was there, just under their feet. Carol could only make out this much, but Daryl was already alert of a double presence. He was about to shove her in the cabin and grab his crossbow when the sounds became louder and they instantly discerned hushed protestations and snickering. They relaxed and rolled their eyes simultaneously at the dawning realization of their stalker's identity who had almost offered them a flat out heart attack. Carol covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a giggle and Daryl leaned over the railing, trying his best to sound frightening.

"You two stay there for a second more, I'm getting down and beating the crap out of you."

The clomping sound of boots echoed in the prison yard as Maggie and Glenn fled, terrified.

"How long had they been here?" she whispered embarrassed, gliding precariously against the wall.

"Dunno. Long enough, I guess," he grumbled, grabbing her before she slumped on the perch. "Fuckin' grooms and brides and sticking their noses in."

As he crammed her against the wall and his toned torso, her vision zeroed again, the blurry image of his face replaced by those magnificent, blue eyes of his. She bit her lip; he was scandalously handsome, even with four eyes.

They were close. Too close. Again. Too fuckin' close. His throbbing mind, his fluttering, skipping beats like a fool heart and the swelling bulge between his thighs were all only too aware of how beautiful she looked. "Where were we?"

"Something about me being drunk and you're not…" she slurred.

"Right… I ain't," he whispered, leaning forward.

Carol snaked a dainty hand between their mouths, postponing their kiss. "Are you taking this back? In the morning, when you're gonna be sober and embarrassed. Are you going to take this back?" Her eyes were wide, her voice husky, her breaths ragged.

He cupped her head. "No. Fuck, no."

"Promise? On your crossbow?"

"You're playing dirty."

"Promise or not?"

"Promise."

Carol smirked. "Say you want to kiss me," she demanded.

"I fuckin' do," he rasped.

This time it was Daryl who drew back when she tiptoed to kiss him. "You're not going anywhere close to him," he drawled pointedly.

"Why not?" She asked innocently, trying to mask the primal ebullience that bloomed in her gut at his voice's jealous pang.

"He's eye-fuckin' you," he grumbled. "And the asshole has a way with words."

Carol chuckled. "Are you kidding me? All this grunting and growling and scowling of yours… No eloquence can compete with this charm."

And finally, they closed the distance between them and met each other half way.

* * *

When Maggie popped in the yard the next morning she was alone; Glenn had disappeared in the dawn, refusing to speak to her after he lost the bet. He was being childish and spoiled and Maggie would tolerate none of this kind of attitude, so she sulked back and zipped her mouth shut.

She saw Daryl and Carol leaning against the metal fence. It was obvious they were trying to plant some seeds. It was also obvious that they were failing miserably. Hangover is a bitch. Carol was stretching out an open palm and he took a couple of painkillers from it as Maggie approached the couple cautiously.

"Hey, guys!" she waved, maintaining a safe distance, not sure how close was safe enough after she and Glenn were caught shamelessly spying on them last night.

"Good morning, honey," Carol beamed at her, she and Daryl exchanging a quick look.

"Um… About last…" Maggie mumbled.

"I believe you are forgiven as long as you keep what you witnessed to yourselves," she interrupted her. "Right, Daryl?"

Maggie saw the man nod just once from the corner of her eye and smiled broadly at both. "Of course." She fidgeted a bit, but just couldn't help herself. "Glenn is a Greene. It's settled," she blurted, a teasing sparkle twinkling in her eyes.

Daryl snorted. "Don't wanna know what you had to do to get it your way."

"I won a bet," she swaggered with a huge, ear to ear grin, her expression playful and her tone hinting.

Maybe it was because they were already suspicious enough of her or maybe she was just too careless and gave away too much with her smugness, but Daryl and Carol locked gazes immediately, realizing at once what kind of bet Maggie won. Daryl offered her a crooked smile and she reciprocated.

"Never doubted you'd get the job done," he squinted at Maggie, taking a step closer.

"Me neither," she snickered, eyeing him provocatively, the double edged meaning of her words plain as daylight to all of them.

In the blink of an eye, Daryl and Carol flanked her from both sides. "Hey smartass, don't think we haven't figured out that little bet of yours," he grumbled. Maggie tried to bolt, but he held her in place. "You won the fuckin' bet, let him fuckin' win an argument. Unless you want that arrow to finally find its way to your ass."

Carol swept swiftly between the two of them, pushing Daryl back gently and smiling to Maggie softly. "What Daryl means is that if there's a moral out of this bet, it's that sometimes you have to let go," she offered with her familiar calm tone.

Maggie pursued her lips stubbornly, ready to defend the bet and her non-negotiable victory, but noticed the way Daryl cupped Carol's shoulder with his hand and the way she covered it with hers as they both stared at her and her gaze softened instantly. It was her victory, her triumph, actually. She had managed to bring them together against all odds. Silent Carol Peletier was beaming like a shining star and grumpy Daryl Dixon looked… happy, for Christ sakes! And she was alone in the yard, bragging over a bet, not knowing where her man was. "Glenn Greene sounds… weird, I guess," she frowned instantly, wriggling her fingers.

"It's noise pollution, honey," Carol chuckled.

"It's a fuckin' tongue-twister and makes him sound like a queer queen," Daryl hissed behind her.

"That, too," she nodded.

"I like you better when you're not bossing me around like him," Maggie muttered at her, furrowing her brow, but laughed it off immediately. "Well, Maggie Rhee is kinda cool, right?"

"Very cool. Especially since Mr. Rhee is Glenn," Carol smirked.

"I-I may have somewhere to be. To-to apologize," Maggie stuttered, her eyes scanning the yard and suddenly she burst into a run. "Although it's ridiculous that you two have the nerve to give me advice," she shouted back over her shoulder.

"This is your doing," Daryl rumbled. "You let her get away with this bullshit for too long. No way to shut her mouth now."

"This," Carol motioned at the space between them, "is her doing, too. Are you complaining about that, too?"

"Women are like wardens around here," he huffed and then laughed instantly at the sound of her stifled giggles.

"I have to go back," she sighed. "Lunch isn't going to make itself."

Daryl glanced up at her warily. "What is this?" he mimicked her movement between the empty space between them. "Sweeping the dust under the rug?"

"How about a clean start?" she offered sweetly.

He nodded, noticing how much he liked the sound of it. "Make sure to get some rest, too." A crooked smiled cracked across his face. "We're paired for watch tonight."

Carol offered him a mischievous look and took a few steps backwards. She remembered how _that_ felt with him despite her hangover; too good.

_**I know, I failed miserably to maintain the light tone from the first part. I tried, though. Pfff… I really hope it didn't completely ruin the story.**_

_**About Carol and Daryl, I wanted an endless, ambivalent back and forth between them, with both taking turns in having the upper hand. I hope you didn't find them extremely out of character. My excuse is that they were drunk. Really, really drunk! Otherwise nothing would have happened no matter how hard Maggie was rooting for them. **_

_**What about the last name resolution? We all wanted Caryl to happen, so Maggie had to win the bet but also Glenn HAD to be a Rhee, too (If you can say Glenn Greene more than three times in a row, I salute you. I know I can't.)**_

_**Thank you all for reading :) Please let me know what you think, this story made me extremely insecure. Both positive and negative comments are welcome, you know that.**_

14


	27. As I Lay Dying (Part I)

**Warning: Content may be disturbing for certain readers.**

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**Remember The Pond? Chapters 8 and 9, in which Daryl almost drowns, Carol saves him and then she has a breakdown. **_

_**Someone had asked me to write a reverse situation to get to explore Daryl's emotional journey in such a moment of death and complete disaster, but it's never so simple for me *sigh*. I just couldn't see Daryl reacting the same way Carol did. So, there you go… **_

_**This is a three part story, which means there are two cliffhangers ahead. There is a reason for that and will be thoroughly explained when the story is complete, I promise. Parts 2 and 3 will be posted really soon, though.**_

_**Special thanks to Peta2 who always makes sure to minimize my errors.**_

_**I'm grateful to you all for keep reading and reviewing this story, even though I'm a little behind getting back to you. My apologies :)**_

_**The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended.**_

* * *

Keeping an eye on Carl was getting harder and harder. Especially since Rick had decided that at least the core group of them – and by core group he meant the members before the Woodbury survivors moved in the prison- should learn some basic skills about hunting and tracking.

The gravity of possessing this knowledge stepped to the forefront in at least two recent occasions; when Daryl went off with Merle and when Merle decided to hunt down the Governor on his own. In the first one, the remaining prison residents would soon have to thoroughly ponder on how to evade starvation, had The Governor been less of an imminent threat at the time. In the second, Carol often witnessed Rick's face scowling, eyes darkened and lost in a void spot ahead and when she asked he confessed that thoughts on whether he'd be able to prevent Merle's suicide mission if only he knew how to track him down effectively had been racking his mind for a while now. Nothing was taken for granted in the world the strived in, least of all Daryl's presence among them.

So, there they were. Split in two groups in the woods, the cars parked randomly on the dirt road traversing them. Her heart sank when she heard Rick teaming her up with Daryl and the instant frown creasing his brow. She wanted to be with him, in every possible sense; he clearly didn't, in every possible sense again, not even for checking the traps they had set, plain as daylight. It had been a week and he kept avoiding her like the plague. Her initial hopes that, bestowed plenty of space and time to reassess the overall awkward situation, things would eventually go back to normal promptly ebbing away and sheer despair crept in progressively in their place.

Carol was petrified. Petrified that she had trespassed any acceptable limit irreversibly, hurtling him to his breaking point that their fragile relationship could never recover from. Maybe she had ruined everything after all when she took liberties he had never, ever, conferred to her or gave even the most remote of signs he'd be comfortable with. Maybe she really was stupid enough to toss away all the footing she had strenuously gained in these long, confusing months and now she'd have to adjust to being invisible to him again, like the early days back in the quarry.

Relief washed over her when Carl chipped in, demanding to join her and Daryl, pissed at Rick once again as always seemed to be the case lately. Unable not to scoff at herself at the mere thought that there had come a day when she'd gladly abate from immersing in the woods alone with him, she tried her best to catch up with his speedy gait while being constantly aware of Carl's whereabouts. It was impossible for the boy to stick close to the adults, meandering as far from them as he could. And Daryl hadn't said a word to her the entire time they spent heading to the traps; hadn't even met her gaze; hadn't offered as much as an acknowledgment of her very presence. He pretended she didn't exist so deftly, Carol was actually wondering if she really was there, Daryl didn't see her and Carl didn't listen to her. On the top of being utterly exposed and humiliated, she was also transparent now.

"Daryl, there's no reason to be like this," she offered guardedly, eyes lingering on Carl who busied himself with the pebbles of a nearby creek, scrupulously maintaining as much distance as he could between him and the grown-ups. "It's not like I'm going to try anything like this again on-"

"Can't you quit the bullshit already?" Daryl hissed over his shoulder, not bothering to even look at her.

She sighed and took a few strides to get closer to him, swallowing hard and blinking the sting in her eyes away; her peripheral view watched Carl disappear behind the dense foliage of a tree cluster. She had to clear the air, to assure him that they could still be friends, hoping he'd still care to share this much with her. "All I'm saying is-"

"Stay the fuck away from me," he barked and fell dead silent.

The ferocity of the answer startled her; it was the very same phrase that had ended their conversation, or disagreement, or squabble or whatever the hell it was that had occurred last week. Carol threaded her fingers in despair, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. "But-"

Daryl whirled around and shushed her abruptly, wide-eyed, finger against his lips. She stopped dead in her tracks, gaze darting in reflex towards the direction Carl had last appeared and right back at the hunter who was hearkening attentively even the most imperceptible sound, narrowed eyes scanning their surroundings, clearly registering something she totally missed.

"You know your way back to where we split? Can you track the others from there?" he rasped, fear freezing him to the core.

Her eyes flicked to him with an incredulous expression, still fighting to discern the lurking danger. If she could find her way in the woods? Probably. If she could track the others? Possibly. They all had their fair share of lessons and training, but hadn't been challenged to force them in use till now. It numbed her to the core that his voice was trembling, his look was pleading and he seemed… scared. What was the threat? Where was the threat? "Yes," she stated firmly, confidently, eyes desperately searching for Carl. "Where's Carl?"

The raps of the ticking clock accelerated insanely, time was mocking at them, thrusting their lives in a torrent of fast forward action. From that instant on, everything seemed to transpire in a time interval of seconds when it spread over for almost an hour.

"Shit!" Daryl swore.

By the moment her head swirled back to him, momentarily registering Carl sprinting in the opposite direction with the corner of her eye, Daryl had closed the distance between them, towering his back in front of her, crossbow armed and raised. He cussed again under his breath and she sucked a shaky one at the dawning realization that, whatever it was he had tried to protect them from, it was already too late. At least Carl had fled the scene. "Don't move," he whispered, hoping his terror was veiled beneath his unfaltering mask of dauntlessness. "Stay behind me."

They were encircled in a flash, all their possible escape routes impeded by soldiers armed to the teeth. It was him. Daryl growled menacingly, ignoring all the four other men around them, crossbow pointed in the face of the one-eyed man who was sauntering his way towards them, relaxed and visibly content by the situation. Even though she had never quite managed a clear glimpse of him, Carol recognized him from the patch, her fingers curling instinctively around the hem of Daryl's shirt as he kept jostling her backwards in a slow but calculated retreat.

The Governor leered, a malicious shimmer flashed momentarily in his narrowed gaze. "From all the people in the world, I stomp into young Dixon. How is your brother doing? Rotting well?"

She felt him tense before her, every nerve of his body wobbled heatedly under his skin. Even now, all she did was hinder his actions, forcing him to protect her, making him responsible for both their lives when he should only care for his. No wonder he wanted nothing to do with her.

When the Governor spoke again, lethal warning rang in his voice. "Drop it. Now."

Daryl didn't faze and Carol scooted closer to him.

"All it takes is a nod, a second and two bullets and you're both dead. No reason fighting it, Dixon," he sneered. "We are five and you are two. The math speaks for itself. Now, drop it."

His jaw clenched painfully before he relaxed his grip on the weapon, letting it land on the muddy ground with a thump, arms now lifting back around Carol, straining to act as a fortress between her and their enemies.

The Governor took a step closer and smirked slyly. "May I see what you're hiding back there?"

He felt her stiffen behind him and he winced. "No," he snarled. "Let her go. It's me you want."

"Aww… A certain someone thinks highly of himself. Ain't that sweet?" The Governor stifled a chuckle. "No, Robin Hood, you have nothing I can possibly want. Don't mean you and I can't spend some quality time." The steady, aloof tone of his voice gave Carol chills, idle self-consciousness that he'd take his time with her first before torture Daryl sinking deep in her gut.

Martinez walked over to his leader. "Want me to go after the boy?"

"No," she heard a voice identical to hers bellowing peremptorily, as she slid calmly away from his protective stance, exposing herself, frostbites whipping her now that she squared her figure out of Daryl's immediate reach. No. Not Carl. Not a child. Not _another_ child. Carl was definitely trying to track down his father; he had a chance, he could make it out of there alive. And she had nothing to lose whatsoever. If she managed to protect Carl until he was safe, it was enough of a victory to her. If she somehow contrived to stall this deathly snare long enough for Rick and the others to find them and save Daryl at least, that would be a triumph she was willing to accomplish at any personal cost.

She had the Governor's unremitting attention in a flash. "No," he echoed Carol, his voice condescending as he weighed the steadiness of mind or lack thereof of the woman across him, motioning her to approach. "Heed to a lady's wish, Martinez. Besides, what harm can a kid do?"

Daryl turned his head in disbelief as he perceived rather than comprehended that she had indeed walked away from him, his feisty demeanor tossed him over the edge once and for all. He launched forward to grab her and drag her behind him, but was knocked on his knees immediately, the cold barrel of a gun fixed between his eyes. "What the hell are you doing?" he screamed at her, his blazing eyes digging holes on her only for him to taste his own medicine as she never even peeked his way, her eyes locked with the Governor's who was inspecting her cautiously, delighted by the twist of things.

"A lady with her own free will. Always such a charming encounter," The Governor grinned, smacking his lips, before he turned to one of his men. "Tie him up to a tree. Make sure he has a perfect view." His gaze drifted back to Carol. "Could you hand in your weapons to Shumpert, sweetheart? We don't want you to try anything stupid and have your friend here killed."

Carol's knees quivered at the insurmountable urge to lunge herself at Daryl and wrap her arms around him, begging the Governor to spare his life and do whatever he wished with hers. But that would be useless, she knew. Showing him obedience and subjugation would mean game over sooner rather than later. She needed time. As much time as possible. The group wouldn't abandon them, but they needed time. Time was all they collectively needed. Time was the one thing they didn't have.

Raising her hands, she withheld her breath while Shumpert disarmed her, his crude touch lingering on her sensationally, but she let nothing reflect in her expression and she kept eyeing The Governor evenly, tuning out Daryl's murderous threats to Shumpert as the physical stamina of three well-built men was recruited to get him tethered against a trunk.

"I don't believe we've met before," he smirked at Carol. "Let me introduce myself. I'm..."

"I know who you are," she interrupted him coldly. "You're …" She balked only for a split second, evaluating her choices, before blurting out the self-proclaimed title he so zestfully seemed to relish. "Philip," she said, clenching her jaw to preserve the sharp edge in her voice.

She watched his facial muscles twitch at the sound of his name; only for a split second though, before ostensible nonchalance flooded across his features once more. "My reputation precedes me. I'm flattered."

Daryl was raving, hopelessness turning him into a squirming wild animal. "Don't you get anywhere close to her."

"If it makes you happy being an infamous murderer, suit yourself," she countered to the Governor, gazes locked, vying for dominance.

""It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets," Voltaire," he quoted. "I consider myself to be a true marshal, not a murderer."

Carol fought to suppress a shudder threatening to vibrate through her head to toe and preserve the blank look on her face as she squinted towards Daryl squirming form.

"Who you think you are, you asshole? Fuckin' Napoleon?"

The Governor snickered wholeheartedly at Daryl's shafts of sarcasm; he was enjoying himself so far, no doubt about that. "And then again, "Irony is wasted on the stupid," Oskar Wilde," he jibed, catching the look she shot to his hostage, he, himself nodding that way. "Do you know what happens next, sweetheart? Or are you as simple-minded as your hillbilly over there?"

"Get away from her!" Daryl ranted. "You lay a finger on her, I'll shove it up your ass"

"Don't take it so personally, Dixon," the Governor retorted instantaneously, in mock innocence. "After all, I might have overheard your little drama earlier and you didn't want this lady for yourself."

Carol cringed at how accurately a lunatic echoed her most inner thoughts; that was a major irony, the entire universe must have zeroed in on their eerie commotion, jeering at them unabashedly. Daryl didn't want her; she knew this much for a week now. But all these men around her were staring at her like she was the last woman in the world. And he would have to watch.

"You realize, sweetheart, that the two of you are completely useless to me?" he asked dryly, fingertips stroking her face. "And as much as I'd love to let you go, I can't?"

The moment had come. She knew what rape felt like; her late husband had been raping her incessantly for endless years. She knew what it felt like to be used, abused, drained and then discarded like a blown-up doll. She would take it. The only new entry in her present condition was that she was dying in the end. She would take that, too. "Go on and do your thing. I'm not begging," Carol deadpanned.

"No! No!" Daryl kept babbling in the background.

"Not begging for your life?" The Governor quirked an eyebrow in sincere surprise. "That's absurd. The only crazy bastard who ever said this same thing to me was his brother. What's wrong with you people? Is that a group fetish?" He stooped over her now, his face only inches from hers as he pinched her chin. "Or are you all just nuts?"

Carol squared her shoulders and eyed him evenly. "And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music," she recited solemnly, her peripheral view scoping Daryl wince and groan. It was him who had brought her the book last month after a run. She wanted this, she needed this; a tiny victory even in an argument before submitting her sorrowful farewell to a cruel life.

"Nietzsche!" The Governor's eyes sparkled wickedly as he tossed his hands in the air pompously. "My, my, my… a reader, finally. Tell me, Dixon, why wouldn't you want this fine lady? It's not like white trash like you could do any better."

"I'll kill you! I swear to God I'll skin you alive, asshole!" he screamed.

The Governor circled her slowly and stopped behind her, impervious to Daryl's threats and cries, flanked her tiny head with his coarse hands and raked his fingers through her overgrown hair. "I'd take you with me, my dear, but I'm sure you'll backstab me first chance you have," he whispered in her ear.

Carol remained unflustered. "I will," she replied dryly.

"Get away from her!"

Turning her until they were both facing Daryl, taking all the time in the world to savor that moment of utter voluptuousness for him, he licked her neck line lasciviously. "Would you beg for him to not watch you die?" he drawled.

That double blow was below the belt, her unperturbed poker face creased into a grimace of pain and repugnance. She wanted to puke from revulsion at the feeling of his tongue sauntering on her skin and she wanted to sob at the thought of Daryl witnessing her death. The repercussions would be tremendous for him even if he didn't love her. She was face to face with him now and could discern his red-rimmed eyes and heaving chest despite their distance. Yes, she'd beg for that. She'd beg for everything that could save him or ease his pain. Yes, she'd even be fool enough to cling to the hope that her untarnished sincerity would mean something to the crazy bastard behind her. "Yes," she whispered, defeated.

A sinister chuckle echoed in her ear and Carol shuddered violently. "See, my dear? Everyone has a breaking point." Before she had the chance to answer, his arms yanked around her neck, locking her into a chokehold. "But honesty is overrated," he growled.

"Fight! Fight!" Daryl was screaming, out of control, mustering every ounce of vigor he had to rip the ropes apart or uproot the tree trunk with such a vehemence that caused Shumpert to fidget next to him, as if he would somehow summon a supernatural force and actually succeed.

Prodded into action by his hollering and the urge to salvage him from the atrocious spectacle, Carol dug her teeth into the Governor's forearm with everything she had, almost chopping off a chunk and elbowed him boisterously in the ribs. He gasped and doubled over and she launched forward, attempting to sprint away, propelled by Daryl's outcries until an unyielding paw balled around her hair and recoiled her to the ground, hauling her back to her assailant. Martinez thrust Carol to the Governor and she bounced between them like a ball.

"No! Carol! No!"

Everything was spinning as she was schlepped and bumped like a punch bag, Daryl's distraught shrieks deafening on the background. Shumpert took a drag on his cigarette and expelled it slowly. Stupid bitch had enraged the Governor, there would be no fun for Martinez and him, their commander would finish her off swiftly, blinded from wrath. He knew the drill, it was constantly recurring every time they'd stomp into a resisting bitch, reluctant to comply and consent to her faith.

"No!"

And then time swindled them once more and everything unwound in slow motion, the duration of the subsequent seconds arching over millenniums.

Her head crashed on the ground and the Governor landed over her, pinning her body down. Both his hands wrapped around her neck in a suffocating, steel grip. Carol wriggled beneath him, fighting back to release herself, arms snaking to his face, fingers hooking his flesh and scratching him fiercely, drawing blood and skin under her nails, on and on. She was choking, unable to suck oxygen into her lungs and kept inhaling raggedly until her airway was completely blocked, but never surrendered.

"Bitch!" the Governor barked.

"No!" He had lost his ability to articulate anything other than his denial to accept what was happening.

She stretched out all she could, inch by inch and tried to gouge her strangler's only eye out of its socket with her thumb. It surprised her how hard she fought against him, not sure if it was the fact that she managed to put up real resistance against a man twice her size or the simple detail of how desperate she was to struggle to live. She still wanted to live, even after Daryl's rejection. She must have been mistaken then, she was actually stronger than she gave herself credit for. Or maybe she just wanted to make him swell with pride one last time with her astounding performance against a foe way beyond her reach.

The Governor jerked his head, slapped her and slammed her head again with all his strength. "Die, you bitch! Die!"

She vainly gasped for air as the clutch around her neck never faltered, her arms lowered and fingers curled around his wrists, bucking to untangle his hands. Her consciousness was slipping away, this was her swan song, her last grain of opposition seething in her veins, as every sound from the woods or their assailants abated and Daryl's sobbing shrieks consumed her ear.

* * *

Daryl thought he knew fear. He thought fear was an omnivorous mammal with a shaggy coat, like the sonorous growl of a grizzly bear, sinister and lethal, reverberating in his head, but it resembled more with the still, watery gaze of a deer in dither as it apprehends the hunter lurking in the shrubs, moments before a bolt catapults into its skull. Fear was the trail of the bear's foreboding shadow, not the bear itself. Fear wasn't the blow; it was the anticipation of it, it spread in the interval between the foresight of the looming calamity and the moment it struck and it was mute, soundless, the clamping force of a vise pinching and bustling his innards. Fear was not the roaring lion ripping your fleshes apart; it was the termite mincing and gnawing at your heart. Fear never meant scorching in hellfire and brimstone; it was merely the vertigo while tiptoeing on a tight rope over the simmering cauldron.

* * *

Weird how things settle by themselves, in the end. A couple of hours ago she thought the steel grip of misery around her neck would choke her to death. And now the Governor's unyielding paws were really, literally throttling the life out of her. But somehow it was ok. The whole situation had evolved just fine for both of them. She was probably worrying too much about what would happen to him if she got killed over there; he wouldn't suffer too much, the group would support him and keep him together. It was a good thing he didn't love her, after all. Otherwise, the blow of her demise would have been unbearable. Only a few months had passed since Merle's heinous death, he was nowhere close enough to being cured from that and ready to overcome another heart-wrenching bereavement. Everybody wins. Carol smiled faintly, saluting his adjacent presence with gratitude, as if she was bestowed a holy benediction; she could do worse. Die in far more horrific ways. Die away from him.

"Carol!"

He was raving, squawking unfathomable curses mingled with despondent pleas. Why? She cast a sidelong glance at him and squinted for a clearer view, mustering all her ebbing courage. If she was granted a last wish before meeting Sophia, that would be it, anyway; one look at him. And she did get to have this much; maybe it was just that she could wander her dim gaze atop him that soothed her to the core.

She would have so much to tell Sophia about him. Sophia. All she had to do to meet her again was to let go, just let go. How many times hadn't she dissolved in tears wishing for a purging death and a reunion with her deceased baby? It was him who kept her grounded, the anchor tipping the equilibrium towards life. But the hickory fire, crackling and kindling for so long, had sputtered and died now that she knew he didn't love her. And she could follow next, released from the vicarious shackles. Nothing was left for her here, nothing hobbled her with life on earth; she could just let go. Let go of the suffering and the one-sided, unreciprocated love for him and permit her soul to wing high to the heavens, to her daughter, to where she was loved and needed and wanted. Daryl was gawking at her, immersed in his frenzied outburst and she gazed at him adoringly, engraving irrevocably every single detail of him in her heart with a fiery iron, memorizing his features one by one. Summer sunlight poured over the rocks, the ground, the trees, him. But through Carol's dying blurry veil, it was death percolating the fluttering leaves where it should have been gleaming, cheerful life.

She knew she was dying; her surroundings were fading away, colors and shapes washing out and evaporating briskly as darkness gradually wormed in, encroaching on light stealthily, prevailing inch by inch. Her misty, blue eyes drifted to the sky that spread like a bottomless, tranquil lake above them, oblivious to the walking inferno on earth, oblivious to the woman wheezing her last, agonizing breaths on the muddy soil. The bright sun sprung its beams into the horizon like a babbling brook, encompassing him in an illuminating halo. A single puff of cloud, wandering like a feathery vagabond in the crystal clear sky, lingering in front of the sun, still and serene as if plastered on the spot by an invisible, masterful artisan; only for a fleeting, unruffled moment till it morphed its ethereal substance into the waggling shape of a fluffy heart, subtly dented in one side, the celestial symmetry of sublime quintessence soaring marred, before it quavered and evanesced, like the withering emblem of an unsullied love gone wrong. Her love.

The penultimate rumination that wrinkled her groveling spirit was that her love for him and Sophia was infinite, confined by no boundaries in time or space or extent or magnitude and that love would be her eternal truth. Her last thought, as her gaze rested back on him, was that she never got to kiss the handsome, contumacious lion across her.

He was delirious, surrendered in a paroxysmal whoop steeped in raving madness and hopelessness as sanity disseminated and he relinquished unconditionally in raw, blind horror. Bubbling wrath pumped through his veins, corroding his innards like exploding lava. The scurrying sounds of the encompassing wildlife oozed, as if animals scampered to their nests or solely hushed and came to a halt in the tracks, bowing their heads in awe and honor at their king's howling laments.

He thought he knew death. Death was a deafening cosmic blast summoning mystical, almighty powers, pulverizing everything in its wake. Thunder and lightning and booming explosions. Clamors and havoc. Tumultuous chaos as the froth of the tsunami laps on the arid earth. He thought death was meteor showers and earthquakes. Gory claws and slimy, gluttonous jaws. Only it was not. Death was deceit; icy pangs cloaked in sunny beams among the oxygen particles, sieving his jerking body like invisible spikes. Death was coldness, like morning mist and dew, like snowflakes floating and swirling amidst a summer morning. Death was silence and utter stillness, more desolate than the hush of early dawn. Death was absence, was her silk scarf hanging laxly from a hook in her cell, waiting for her to drape it casually around her neck. Death was the raking fear that the next sunrise would find him alive, sitting in her bunk, in the middle of an empty, frigid cell with the soft garment brushing his fingertips like a windblown curtain and for a fleeting moment he would snap his head peering at the doorway, hallucinating her emerging there and the last words he ever uttered – _Stay the fuck away from me_, that full-blown lie that ended both their last interactions- wouldn't bear the irrevocable finality that wrecked him.

And then it was over. A set of glassy, cerulean eyes stilled, transfixed on him and dainty fingers glided in slow motion, squelching on the boggy clay. His body slacked against the log and not the slightest whisper slithered through his parched lips as her lifeless gaze ensnared his goggled eyes.

The sun was snuffed out like candlelight.

_To be continued…_

* * *

_**Thank you all for reading :) At this point, any kind of feedback would be extremely appreciated.**_


	28. As I Lay Dying (Part II)

**WARNING: CONTENT MAY BE DISTURBING FOR CERTAIN READERS.**

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**I have received so contradicting opinions about the last chapter, I don't really know what to make of them.**_

_**This chapter is also a very dark one, it's focused mainly on Daryl's emotional journey, gives answers to why he behaved the way he did and also has a very violent part. In the end, there's still a major cliffhanger. You won't be able to definitively find out what happens until the last part is posted which will be really soon. I tried really hard to make it a two shot, even if it meant chapters bigger than 6000-7000 words, but it honestly couldn't be done. Everything will be explained in the last part.**_

_**Personal attacks are not cool and it's terrible for me to feel the need to defend my story. I'm trying my best here, insulting the readers was never in my to-do list. Any kind of criticism is welcome, but rudeness in not necessary. Sincere apologies to people who felt too emotionally disturbed by the previous chapter. **_

_**On the other hand, you always surprise me :) Most of you liked the metaphor about fear. Well, I can confess now that my personal favorite was the one about death.**_

_**Peta2 made sure once again that your eyes won't suffer from my errors.**_

_**The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended.**_

* * *

_A week earlier_

"_What the fuck are you doing?"_

_When he grabbed her shoulders, the sensation couldn't have strayed farther from what Carol longed for. Instead of crashing her against his broad chest the way she had played the scene out over and in her mind, sequestering any consideration of a different outcome due to sheer fear of getting cold feet and never risking a fleeting kiss, he squeezed her harshly only to shove her away._

_She was gasping raggedly now, fingertips petting the lips that had barely brushed his before he jerked backwards as if he was jolted by electricity. Glaring down on her with an unfathomable flash in his eyes and every muscle on his face twitching in distress, fists balling and unfurling alternatively, he looked like threat and danger incorporated. Not having a clue what she was supposed to do now, next, ever again, she stretched out a hesitant hand, attempting to touch him once again. "Daryl-"_

_He flinched, yanking her hand away. "Get your hands off me."_

_Not much she could do at this point. She wasn't even sure what hurt the most; rejecting her, looking nothing short of disgusted by her advances, or regarding her like she was the enemy. "I-I thought you felt the same w-way," she stuttered, a gut-wrenching pain scorching her inside out._

"_You're a real piece of work, ain't you?" As his knuckles collided with the grainy surface of the wall, she didn't flinch, didn't even blink, she was expecting that. She knew he'd have to vent some pent-up tension and he was oblivious to other ways of blowing off steam. It was either the wall or her face and she was convinced beyond any doubt that he would never hit her, wouldn't even consider hitting her. In fact, the odds for him to punch her were even lower than kissing her and the sourness of this thought made her almost smirk acrimoniously._

_She swallowed hard a huge lump blistering in her throat, jaw trembling, striving to shelter the remnants of a trampled dignity._

_Daryl took a step closer, towering over her. "Don't you ever dare touch me again," he drawled poignantly, steadfast emphasis stressing each word hissed through gritted teeth._

"_I'm sorry," she mumbled, nodding, tears dripping on the ground._

"_Stay the fuck away from me."_

_She nodded again and the next moment he had spun around and marched away, almost fled like a panic-stricken animal, throwing as much distance between them as humanly possible, the clomping thud of heavy boots echoing in the prison yard. As she regarded his shrinking figure tentatively, the fragile, delicate fibril that always envisioned connecting their beating hearts cleaved abruptly and sent her reeling. _

_She had died once, emotionally, the day Sophia stumbled out of the barn. This could count as her second inner death, the day she was shocked by the realization that she would never share this hellish reality arm in arm with him. The only way she could keep forcing one foot in front of the other was to make peace with absolute loneliness. And so she did. But dying twice inside was a pivotal moment she would never manage to reverse again; she couldn't recover from the same grief. Physical death meant nothing to her anymore._

* * *

Chaos elicited, but Daryl registered nothing, his eyes never averting from hers.

The sinister leer in Philip's face froze when he and his henchmen were flanked from everywhere around. One of the two men they hadn't met before collapsed face down on the mud, the back of his head penetrated by a bullet from Carl's gun, blood and brain matter spurting all around. Maggie shot from a distance, the bullet twanging in Martinez's neck and Glenn finished him off aptly, slicing his skull with a hatchet. Rick and Shumpert tumbled on the ground, clasped together in a hand-to-hand combat to the bitter end. Michonne, attacking from the spot behind Daryl decapitated the last man with one single, gracious rotation of her katana.

But the rabid havoc surrounding him didn't suffice to snap him out of the haze; her blank gaze magnetized his, pinning him on spot as if he was enchanted by a spell.

It was only when Glenn bent over her and readjusted her head in a horizontal posture, ripping Carol's vitreous peer away from him that he blinked. It was only when the Governor intervened between him and the sight of her recumbent form that he gasped. It was only when the whirring blade lacerated the wind and his restraints crumpled on the ground that he felt his teeth grinding painfully, seeing nothing but red and he lunged at the worthless scum staggering before him, seeking nothing but blood.

Slamming him flat on his back, punching him again and again until his knuckles ached and Governor's face was savagely disfigured, Daryl derived a feral ebullience from the mere fact that he was groveling defenseless, not standing a chance to retaliate the merciless blows he received under his unyielding clutch, like a once upon a time lethal reptile deprived of its venom. Kneeled atop him, completely spaced out, his defense mechanisms working overtime to maintain his focus on the object of his wrath; otherwise he might glance up and realize he was the one defeated, the one broken, even if he beat the man beneath him to death. His head snapped when the repetitive yelp of his name punctuated through his throbbing ears, lashing him out of his trance and he met Glenn's gaze, eyes still blazing with hatred.

Glenn was calling for him to hustle to his aid while his hands were swiftly bouncing over Carol's chest. Maggie was leaning against a tree trunk, white as a sheet and momentarily unable to assist, her pregnancy dizziness getting the best of her. Rick had gained the upper hand in his fight with Shumpert but was still unavailable. Michonne was standing next to Daryl, it was not a secret that the definitive blow on the Governor would be hers, everyone knew, even if Daryl had no recollection of it. And Carl… In moments like these, of devastating tragedy, Carl still dredged the childhood hibernating inside him; that's what he was doing now, crying next to the figure of his surrogate mother, of his really adored step mom he rarely bothered to listen to, stroking her boot. Daryl was a poor choice; still, he was the only one Glenn could address for assistance.

A firm grasp squeezed Daryl's shoulder. "Go," Michonne muttered. "He's mine." And he was scrambling to his feet again, his mind failing miserably to keep up with a hyperactive body functioning on autopilot.

"We meet again, Philip" she sneered, grazing her katana on his throat. "Long time no see." The Governor, the man who had rampaged and leeched on their lives with neurotic obsessiveness, taking Merle and Andrea away from them, whimpered like a pathetic whelp and a sting of disappointment stirred in Michonne's stomach. She had wished him to resist, she had wished him to fight back, prolong his death and only rendering it more painful.

Daryl sank on his knees to help Glenn. He knew what was happening. He knew why he was there. He also knew the precise moment his mind flipped; it was a slow procedure, a slippery slope inexorably steering there. First, it was her wide, terrified eyes, glowing from fear and inhumane effort to breathe turning misty. Then it was the brusque, gasping squeaks scatter and dwindle until they completely ceased, succeeded by the clutch of her fingers loosening around her strangler's wrists. Finally, it was her arms slumping on the ground, her jolting legs coming to a standstill and her entire body stretched out limp even after the smothering grip around her neck was forgone. He knew what he had to do, right there right at that moment. And he did nothing.

"Daryl, help me," Glenn urged him.

His jaw slackened and he just gawked at the sapless body he idly recognized belonging to her, but it only made sense as a ghostly doppelganger haunting her fleshly counterpart; the bright eyes, hollow and vacant, fastidiously staring into nothingness, the familiar flame flickering inside them snuffed out; the cadaverous pallor strewn across her freckled skin evicting the pink-tinged shade.

"Daryl-"

"Again!" he barked at Glenn's face, perceiving Maggie crying at the outskirts. "Shut up!" he screamed at her, oblivious to the fact that her soft whimpers were barely audible juxtaposed to his deranged wailings. Suddenly everything was too real. This wasn't a nightmare, or a bleak illusion he could sweep away. This was Carol lying dead before his eyes.

Glenn resumed CPR doing a few more rounds and then he drew back again, biting his lips.

Daryl shot him a murderous look. "Again!" he yelled once more, but his voice choked into a sob.

Glenn flicked him a plaintive glance, cringing, incapable of forcing himself to lock gazes with the man slouched across him. Something was … It was beyond pain the ominous halo oozing off him.

Registering the other man's inertia, Daryl thrust his weight over her, bumping down her chest; he, himself, drowning in the cerulean, unruffled oceans of her eyes. He was sobbing violently the entire time; spasms penetrated his body through and through, every single sinew bolted evidently beneath his skin. Tears dripped on her collarbone and the ground around them. He groaned painfully and gritted his teeth to steady himself, but kept vibrating head to toe nevertheless; he bungled to perform properly the even and deep compressions, the curve of his floundering, quivery elbows hamstrung his herculean effort to reanimate her defunct heart. Pinching her nose, he contrived to puff a ragged breath between her parted lips compelling her chest to partially billow upwards; striving in full blast and not even close to be dubbed adequate, he put everything he had into a last resort effort to muster up his courage and regain full command of his renowned mastery in self-control.

_Hold your shit together, lil' bro._ For just an elusive, fleeting moment, he honestly believed it was something within his powers, that it was attainable to take this up to him and somehow pull it through. But when he withdrew a little to inhale deeply, summoning every grain of equanimity still flowing in his veins to blow air into her, he lapsed into allowing another peek to dart on her open eyes again, on the still, blue, glazing transparency stripped even from the most imperceptible speck of warmth and liveliness.

And he collapsed. He melted in her agape mouth, crying and moaning, sucking agonizing breaths that failed to reach his lungs, fisting her grown hair and pounding her chest boisterously. It was the moment he surrendered. He surrendered irreversibly and unconditionally in a harrowing bawl jammed with whimpers and muffled, unfathomable pleas as he lamented both her bereavement and his thoughtless acts. _Pussy._

Glen searched Rick's eyes for guidance. If they were going for it, for the far-fetched, irrational hope to resuscitate the empty vessel of Carol's figure, this was not the way. Someone else had to take over, someone composed and strong, to delve into this seemingly infeasible purpose; someone who wouldn't have to face the fear of getting his face bit off simultaneously with a gun pointed to his face. Their leader had just plucked his knife out of his rival's eye socket and was panting, taking in the scene between Glenn, Daryl and Carol wide-eyed. Rick nodded.

"Let me," the Asian man croaked, Daryl's utter devastation goading him back to action.

Maggie dropped on her knees next to him, swallowing down dizziness and nausea, resolved to undertake the mouth to mouth process. They worked together meticulously, scrupulously, with the accuracy of radars and the efficiency of robots to coerce in Carol's lifeless frame the vigor to surmount this and claw back to vitality.

Daryl had collapsed, prostrated with his face buried in the crook of Carol's neck, his woe and gut wrenching dissolution further hampering their impossible task. Clasping her limp hand in his, squeezing it to his lips and nesting it in his chest, he replicated this identical back and forth movement like a defective, beyond repair broken record player stuck in an endless loop.

But no amount of sobs perforating him through and through with the easiness of a sieve or spasms jarring his frame as if in conduct with an electrified wire had the sovereignty to dilate time and launch him back to an alternative universe where he could re-scribble their history and trigger a different outcome to this infernal present. Repentance, second chances, lost opportunities, unuttered apologies, bottled up confessions, stifled declarations gushed into his bloodstream, rendering him into a corpse identical to the one he was oscillating over. Petrified to the core, his sizzling blood converted into ice as it progressively sank into him that no amount of castigation and self-battering would suffice to bestow upon him an opportunity to annul the past, to retract his venomous indictments, to claim back what he had heedlessly tossed away. It was past due time. Repercussions percolated and all the regret of the world would be of no avail anymore. Pay back's a bitch, as Merle would leer.

He wanted his big brother to storm in and fix everything, jostling and shouldering and punching his way till he got the job done; Merle's mode of fending for himself and occasionally for both of them. It was ridiculous this was the moment he missed him the most, but he needed him right there and right now to burst in, all bravado and bullying, and save the day, save him, save _her_. Nothing could resist Merle's wrath. The terrestrial axis would snap like a twig and the world would cease to revolve if Merle ordered so. No one would dare to die on him if Merle forbad so.

He knew she loved him. Everyone knew and even if he was the last one to belatedly get the memo, he eventually caught up. Especially since he had returned with Merle it would take a blind man to refute the fact that she loved him. And especially since he had returned with Merle he had been gradually musing the idea of being something more with her. Things had seemed good and normal for a while, even with the endless fighting between Merle and Glenn, even with the impending attack of the Governor. He had his brother, he had their patchwork, spotty but bonded family, he had her. Never in his life had he more; he never had anything, actually, and suddenly he had everything, he was full, sated, feeling like the king of the world. Carol had convinced him that he was a man of honor and it was the first time he had all he wanted, good stuff, and he honestly believed he deserved them. And he was ready for the next step. With her.

And then his brother had tried to eat him alive. Merle had gone and gotten himself killed and Daryl was the one to put him down, facing his milky eyes, his groans, his gnashing teeth, his mouth drooling the fresh blood of a kid lying on the ground. It was enough to shock him back to reality, to _his_ fate, _his_ life. He could never have nice things. Not without them being ripped away from him. He didn't deserve them and each time he dared to clasp something he desired and claim it for himself, the universe made sure to slap him back into self-consciousness and snatch it back. Everything he loved was bound to die. Like his mom. Like Merle. And, as much as he deeply and sincerely cared for every member of their group, there was only one person left in the world he ever loved even more than them and was still alive. Only one person he loved just because that's how he felt, not because she was blood, not because he had to, only because he had never contrived to reason out a way not to.

So, he backed off. The die was cast as the last shovel of dirt scattered on Merle's grave. People he cared about stayed alive as long as he stayed away from them. He had to eventually learn his lesson once and for all, before it was too late for Carol as well. And when she took the initiative to make the first move he almost flung her over the perch of the watch tower. He could never touch her, he _would_ never touch her. That would be equal to a death sentence. He kept his part of the deal with the universe, watched her walk around hurt and broken and never even considered to give in to the temptation to run to her.

How had this happened then? He had paid the fee for her to stay alive. Why was she lying dead in front of him? What kind of deity steering their lives would allow that? The last words he ever told her in a shared moment between them were to _Stay the fuck away from him_ when he only yearned for the opposite. And he never got to savor her kiss, he never got to kiss her back, showing her how he really felt about it. Why did she have to die anyway? Why didn't he know that? He would have done everything differently, they would have both shared a few moments of happiness before the inevitable knocked on their door.

On and on, he droned the beseeching chant of her name as the uncompromising finality of death dangled over him like a double-bladed spear, still sobbing, sprawled over her, still holding on to her hand. The squish greasy sound of her body twitching on the muddy ground, in sync with the recurrent smacking of Glenn's interlaced fingers against her sternum, drove him crazy. He couldn't stand this noise, it slithered inside his brain or whatever was left of it and reverberated incessantly between the walls of his skull, a constant reminiscent that her life was slipping away from him. He groaned and draped his free hand around her stomach, digging his nails in her waist like a grappling hook, struggling to pin life back inside her. "Don't leave me. Please, don't leave me," he keened and Glenn cringed at the bold anguish, his stomach churning from the need to quit and puke.

"Let as work, Daryl," he breathed exhausted, not having the slightest idea how long he had been repeating the same monotonous procedure over and over again.

Daryl didn't stir. His sanity long gone, immersed in the havoc of the ultimate calamity, unable to ebb away the steel grip of terror and agony. His heartbeat erratic, hammering against his chest, throbbing in his ears, tuning him out of reality and nailing him right in the center of his tragedy at once. His breathing nonexistent, almost like hers, the only alteration between them was that his suffering still wormed its path out of his throat morphed in choked screeches. He was panting, unable to suck air as if the oxygen had transmuted into viperous flecks, it was only scorching his lungs, the moribund feeling gaining footing inside him.

Maggie cast furtive, incredulous glances at Daryl's writhing form, ashamed for witnessing the dauntless hunter dissolving into pieces. "Damn it, Carol," she sniffled, barely withholding her own tears.

Her mind drifted back to their first hunting lesson when they had stomped into a clearing soundlessly and collectively marveled at the sight of a pair of deer -a hart and a doe, Daryl had explained later- hopping around each other, magnificent and noble and insouciance all at once. Until an arrow had accurately sliced the female's skull. Maggie's chin had trembled at the sound of the yowling caterwaul of the hart as it shuffled closer to his companion with another arrow dipped inside him to draw his last breaths next to her. This is why this ultimate devastation resembled to a déjà vu. The man who never hesitated before a quandary, the man who never blinked from fear, who never hid from danger, who never allowed as much as a single glimpse of weakness to any of them; flapping on the ground, sagged and helpless, vibrating like a heap of spineless sinews. She wondered if Carol knew how he felt about her. He had always been a riddle for everyone in the group, impossible to be rationed out, but now he was laid all raw and suffering, unraveled pathetically like a broken maze, just a man, any man, mourning his mate.

Had the times they lived been different she would have never chewed a chunk of cooked deer in her life. Had the times been different Maggie would get the time to mourn her mother, their other demises, Carol. Had the times they lived been different she would have never permitted Daryl Dixon to be witnessed in such a condition. But times were what they were. They weren't different. The times allowed leeway for humans turning into monstrosities, for ex law-abiding civilians to mutate into monsters with no legal consequences, for the walking dead to roam the earth. And Maggie had an enlightening epiphany, right at that moment, as she blew air into Carol's mouth with her thoughts waltzing at the unborn fetus growing protected, insulated inside her womb that the walking dead prowling around were not the breeds of the damned, godforsaken humanity; it was _them_. This bunch of derelicts stitched together seamlessly in a makeshift formation with the sole purpose of survival incised in the blank tablets of their souls with chisels.

The peripheral view of the couple hovering over her body registered Rick approaching them cautiously, colt in hand, forefinger on the trigger. He was battered, out of breath, a mask of pain struggling with the grim determination his heinous duty dictated. Glenn and Maggie exchanged a terrified look as the former kept working on Carol and Maggie whirled her head, shaking it wide-eyed in Rick's direction.

Their leader accessed them from an angle beyond Daryl's visual range while he had his back turned on him. Not that it made any difference. His hiked beyond any reasonable degree acute audition performance caught the rattling leaves, nevertheless, instantly aware of the encroaching peril.

"A step closer and you're a dead man," Daryl snarled with a contorted voice, before lifting his head to reveal a swollen, scrunched up face, distorted from torment and misery, and a set of grayish bloodshot eyes.

Rick stopped dead in his tracks and lifted his hands defensively, gun dangling from his finger.

Daryl gawked at him pungently, aping a carnivore predator stalking his prey, ripe to lunge forward and tear its flesh in shreds. "Get the fuck away from us," he drawled, shielding Carol with his body, still holding on to her hand, the lethal twinkle still flickering in his eyes forced their leader to step back in retreat; the ultimatum chiming crystal clear in his warped voice.

And then they heard it.

It was the moment Michonne's katana swung gracefully, mutilating The Governor, before she muzzled his suffering shrieks with the maimed part of his alleged masculinity. It was the moment Carl bowed his head, coming to terms with losing a second motherly figure in the interval of months. It was the moment Glenn whispered to Maggie he was getting tired and she drew back to switch places with him. It was the moment Rick's gun was back in hand aiming at Carol, safety still on. It was the moment Daryl's unoccupied hand pawed his own with a single, fluid motion and pointed it at him, safety off.

His head snapped down, eyes transfixed on her glassy ones.

While Maggie covered her mouth with her hand and Glenn threaded his fingers through his hair, Rick approached them, gait cautious but obstinate and Daryl's leveled arm trailed his orbit, barrel directed sternly on him without exchanging as much as a glance with each other.

The center of their small universe, Carol, consumed every grain of their attention as a gagged, snarling sound escaped her throat, albeit she remained dead still.

Maggie shivered and Carl sobbed again; Glenn cussed, Rick gasped and Daryl stopped breathing.

"Wait!" Maggie cried, jumping in the middle of the two raised guns, arms wrapped around her slightly protruding belly.

_To be continued…_

* * *

_**Now you know pretty much everything about Daryl's motives behind his actions. Not that it makes any difference if he never gets the chance to fix whatever can be fixed. I wanted to break him to the core, didn't think the walls he built after Merle died could be knocked down any other way, unless he came face to face with ultimate disaster. **_

_**This is the factor that differentiated his behavior compared to Carol's behavior in The Pond. I just couldn't bring him to hold it together, but I believe the parallels with The Pond are clear to you now.**_

_**Thank you all for reading :) A review would be much appreciated.**_

9


	29. As I Lay Dying (Part III)

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**Not much to say here, there's a huge analysis in the end of the chapter :)**_

_**You know I would recommend you go back and re-read the previous chapters but I doubt you will after all this angst :) **_

_**I'm always grateful to Peta2 who jumps bravely between you and my errors :) Poor you and every kind of crazy you have to read!**_

**maria: Thank you for the review :) Problem is that this is my writing style, it's the way I write even in my native language, not just English. I'm not suggesting I have found the balance, probably not, but vocabulary is my soft spot. Maybe it's better managed when I follow a character's thoughts, because metaphors and descriptions are getting the better of me. Oh, well, practice makes perfect, I'm still working on that :)**

_**The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

Her chest jolted twice and her neck stretched backwards.

He squeezed the hand he had ensnared between his palm and his collarbone and cool fingers curled around his thumb, grazing the coarse skin as her entire body stirred and jerked.

Her head lolled to the side and she wheezed painfully, releasing a shrill, whistling sound.

No one breathed in this unlikely assembly of people around her.

"Rick, no…" The barely audible whisper evanesced in the air, as Maggie's stormy gaze skimmed back and forth between the two men, one slowly removing the safety of his gun, the other struggling to steady a quavering arm.

Daryl stooped over and croaked her name, almost suffocating to death himself at the sight of her still unblinking, blurry gaze when her eyes shut hermetically and she gasped for air, her torso wriggling on the ground.

Glenn propped her up immediately to ease her agony, resting her against his chest as Daryl just watched blankly, the wheels in his brain twirling override, yet failing to reconcile with the mortifying transition from hell to heaven in a split second.

Maggie staggered her way next to them and collapsed, throwing up, a very distressed Glenn trying to hold Carol upright and pat Maggie's back, peering over at a thunderstruck Daryl. He sighed, silently wished he was an octopus to be able to tend them all at once and still have a spare tentacle to rub on his forehead. It was unbeknownst for the members of their group to lose their composure collectively at once. Rick's knees buckled and he dropped on all fours on the slippery soil. At least Carl was behaving maturely again, scooted closer and lightly caressed Carol's knee.

Daryl fell silent, gawking at her with utter incredulity and denial, shaking his head, red-rimmed eyes skittering inquisitively all over her face. The gun discarded next to him, his free arm shuddering laxly by his side. If he had breathed or not since the moment Carol started thrashing on the ground, he had no idea.

She stared back at him in shock, disoriented and confused, still clutching his finger, panting labored, hissing breaths. Her first impulse was to flinch as she barely recognized the man who scanned her diligently, but something in his darkened eyes hurtled a familiar warmth in her heart despite the distorted mask of horror and pain obfuscating his features.

He had to chant it internally over and over, like a gospel, with religious deference and persistence that the set of blue eyes fixed on him bore no resemblance to the milky fogginess of a walker's vanquished humanity. It wasn't until she blinked for the umpteenth time that he groaned loudly his inability to vent all the pent up feelings tucked in his chest. There was no possible escape route for the dread tamped down there, towering inside him like a colossal tsunami raring to devour the last vestiges of life and sanity slithering deep in his chest. But every time her eyes closed only to flutter open again he could clearly distinguish the bright glow of vitality reviving inside them.

Daryl lurched forward to scoop her out of Glenn's embrace. "Let her breathe, let her breathe," Glenn protested but he yanked his hand away, nothing sturdy enough to block his way. He wormed his arm between them and forcefully excavated a barely conscious Carol out of Glenn's slouched body and clumsily maneuvered to perch her in his arms single-handed as his right hand was uselessly entangled in a clutter of slipshod fingers woven together in an unbreakable grip.

He tumbled down on his butt; the slushy sound of the colliding soft mire not bothering him anymore. "You ok?" he rasped, panting for air.

"She probably can't speak right now. Her throat must be killing her," Rick croaked, still on the ground, fighting to compose himself as Maggie shuffled to Glenn to mewl her alleviation in his chest.

"But she's gonna be fine?"

Michonne plucked her katana out of the Governor's eye socket and strayed a bit to behead a few approaching walkers. Carl was prompted into action immediately; back to behaving like a grown man, he was the first person surrounding Carol to aggregate his self-control together, running closer to Michonne as he muzzled the silencer on his firearm.

Rick's gaze tagged along his son but he addressed Daryl, shrugging, offering all the knowledge he had earned as a former sheriff. "Attempted strangulation. Sore throat and hoarseness for sure for a few days. I bet she has a horrible headache right now and her ears are ringing. And we have to wait; we don't know how long her brain was without oxygen…"

Daryl shot him a murderous look. "Bullshit," he grumbled and shifted his attention back to Carol. "You're fine, ain't you?"

Droplets of salty tears welled up to shake off the dryness, progressively dripping the intrinsic moisture back in her misty eyes, rinsing away the brittle glossiness of perishing. She couldn't speak but she could see him even through a haze and she could hear him despite the thunderous buzzing in her ears, so she mustered a ghostly smile to supplant her inability to utter anything.

"You hear me?"

She nodded.

"You have a headache? You feel shit?"

Carol wanted to laugh at the question. Daryl Dixon was probably the last man walking on earth that would feel reassured with an affirmative response. Instead, she winced in pain as a thousand needles punctuated her throat and she just nodded once more, then closed her eyes and leaned into him.

"We better get moving. Walkers are gathering." Prodded back to reality by Michonne's alarming tone, everyone was up and ready to fight in a flash, checking the chambers of their weapons, unsheathing their knives, hewing a strict formation around Daryl and Carol.

"Say something," he ordered sternly, shaking her violently in his arms.

"Ouch," Carol grunted and he broke an ear to ear grin to everyone around them.

"She's fine. I'm taking her to the old man," he announced emphatically, as he scrambled up to his feet at once, lifting her along.

Rick was in front of him in a split second, blocking his way. "Let me carry her to the cars," he muttered.

Accepting the alleged challenge immediately, Daryl closed the space between them, cradled Carol the only barrier impending a brutal collision of two well built chests. "Why? So you can put a bullet in her brain?" he growled, snuggling her closer.

"Let's get moving, guys!" Glenn yelled.

"Daryl, if she has any cracked ribs, you're probably hurting her right now." Not that there was any point in trying to speak some sense into him at that moment, deep down Rick knew he was just wasting his time at best, positioning his forehead in a bullet range once again at worst.

"No," Daryl snarled, marching to the cars, the venomous pang in his voice stuffing all the leeway for further debate.

Thankfully, the cars were parked less than a twenty-minute walk away, a distance covered relatively smoothly and without excessive trouble.

When he climbed into the back seat of Glenn's pick-up, ignoring Rick calling his name and tugged Carol tightly against him, he sagged on the bench heaving, labored breaths from physical and emotional exhaustion sliding through his lips. None of it mattered, though, the moment he locked eyes with her droopy ones and the corners of her mouth quirked upwards.

"Stay with me, ok?" he croaked, scraping away a muddy smear from her cheekbone. Carol wrinkled her nose at the contact and he chuckled, startling them both.

Glenn and Maggie hopped in right behind them, both of them still looking pretty shaken. Maggie was curled by his side, nuzzling in his shoulder. "I love you," she stated plainly in her husband's neck, audibly enough for everyone to hear and Daryl's gaze darted back to Carol who was out cold again; despite fighting it, he couldn't help but wonder how something so bold and exposing was so easy for these two when it was so inconceivably difficult for him. When Glenn lifted his hand to stroke Maggie and the truck bumped along over the rocky terrain, he couldn't even muster the courage to scold him.

Daryl kept his eyes transfixed out of the window for the biggest part of the ride after that, registering nothing but a specter of blurry, shapeless landscapes coming into view and fading away, his mind a coagulated mass of nothingness as his fingertips groped the lines of her face. He had to. In desperate need to simmer down the secretion of adrenaline bolting in his veins, overwhelmingly self-conscious of the precious burden in his embrace, he simply had to hold his shit together till they returned to the prison. He had to. Then he could break something, kill something, maybe smash down a cell block to ease off some tension. Not before.

* * *

He stormed out of the cell in a flash after he laid Carol on her bunk and heard Hershel's crutches approach, marching to the kitchen purposefully with long strides, pausing every few steps to kick to hell anything in his immediate reach, cussing for all those sets of eyes he felt kindling his back, Rick close on his heels. Once out of plain sight, he leaned over the countertop panting, arms splayed.

"Daryl-"

"Just get out of here, Rick," he hissed through gritted teeth, yet not the most indolent sound to betray that the other man heeded his advice echoed in the cement walls

Their leader didn't faze, just rubbed his face, to swipe away the unforeseen chagrins that day had served them. "You know I did what I had to do, right?"

Daryl eyed the galvanized rack that bore their food provisions reeled off neatly and skillfully in various selves, no more than a few feet away from him. With a fluid motion, slopping with crude wrath and vehemence finally liberated, he hurled it on the floor, summoning every last ounce of stamina still lurking inside him. Screws shrilled as the metallic joints dismantled from the blunt of the ferocious impact, jars with salted commodities, such as sardines and pork, painstakingly stashed in there over infinite hours of cooking and preparation shattered in tiny fragments, liquids splashed all over the floor, pulverized sugar and baby formula evaporated, smoked meat thudded dully and all kinds of fruits and vegetables spurted around.

Daryl watched pathetically a lonely lemon rolling on the floor nonchalantly, only to crush in the conjunction with the wall and bounce off for a few inches, the stiff taste of sourness plundering his dry mouth. "We both did," he muttered, shuddering head to toe, nails almost digging blood from his palms.

Rick had cringed at the resounding boom of the destruction, still reverberating in the confined cement space, but had otherwise remained composed. "I would have pulled the trigger." His voice was solemn, but stripped from any sign of vigor, eyes dented.

"Me too," Daryl rumbled, still a wreck fighting against his most feral instincts, dragging his feet with great effort until the two men were standing face to face, eyeing each other evenly with a hard look spread across both their profoundly creased faces.

Rick cupped the hunters shoulder and squeezed it sternly. "We'd both do our duty," he offered, understanding and compassion radiating off him despite the unbearable encumbrance on his shoulders. "I get it. No hard feelings."

Daryl nodded just once. "I'm sorry." He knew Rick loved Carol. He knew that in retrospect, he, himself, was playing hero back there, back when everything was lost and all hope vanished. He knew Rick was the villain against his will. He knew someone had to do this part and it was the craggy path to follow. He knew someone had to execute the task and that the action would only be an emblem of valor, decency and honor. He knew Rick deserved his loyalty and respect for that; he had both. But he would have catapulted a bullet between his eyes anyway, without hesitation or further ado. They both knew. And acknowledged each other, whatsoever, steeling a bond beyond family and kin, beyond blood.

"I reckon we're fine, you and I," Rick said, still patting him encouragingly.

"Square," he nodded, yanking away, eyes inspecting the hallway, restless once again. "I'm going hunting."

Rick peered through the veil of the blatant lie immediately. It was twilight, already. No way would Daryl hunt in the dark. He just needed space and time alone, to dissolve and crumble on the ground. "When are you coming back?"

Daryl shrugged, fastening his crossbow and marched outside the prison walls without another glance, blowing away a wisp of overgrown hair blinding him and vaguely wishing that Carol's hand was there to tuck it behind his ear.

Rick was aware of the ambiguity the gesture entailed. Maybe in two hours, maybe in a week. It depended on how long it'd take for him to get a grip on his nerves and muster his equanimity and self-control to be able to face her. He would bet his chips on a week rather than hours.

* * *

She saw him the fourth morning when she stepped outside to get breakfast to whoever was on watch; she wasn't surprised. Everyone was staring at her for those few moments between crossing the corridor and immerging in the blinding daylight and she simply knew he was back. But he was still out of the fence, back turned to the prison, the heels of his hands rubbing his eyes, slouched next to Merle's grave. So, she handed the plate over to Michonne on the guard tower and walked back to the prison. When Rick touched her arm, she simply shook her head and kept walking back to the kitchen, ignoring the inquisitive looks darting at her.

He would come to them, to her, when he was ready. She didn't know where her certainty sprung from, but it was there, no doubt. It sparked the moment she opened her eyes in the cell, in the middle of the night when they were back and she knew he was gone. She remembered knowing he'd leave from the look in his eyes during the ride back. She hadn't shed a single tear during his absence, neither for her nor for him. Maggie and Carl had cried in her lap, even Rick and Glenn had wiped stray tears away when she was on her feet again, but not her. Consolation was not needed. She knew he was coming back. And she knew he loved her. Had seen it through the sheen of his tears when Glenn propped her up. Somehow she knew that when he came back, they would finally be on the same page, equal partners.

The sun had set when he entered the prison. Carol was expecting him in her cell, leaning against the wall, in the dim light of the lantern that inspected everything from the drawer in the corner through the yellow shades lapping around the figures. Somehow, she knew he was coming for her, somehow she knew he'd miraculously know where to find without seeking her; not having a clue why, she just knew.

A bitter smirk ghosted her lips when people fled the hallway like rats abandoning a ship as the clomping thump of his boots echoed, momentarily coming to a standstill outside her cell. The newcomer immigrants from Woodbury felt nothing close to comfortable around him. Daryl avoided each one of them like the plague and they regarded him like the devil incorporated. Soon their piercing gazes of irresolute agitation each time the hunter was in menacing distance would turn to dust, Carol knew that too. It was only a matter of time for people surrounding them to find out that Daryl Dixon wasn't danger, Daryl Dixon was safety.

The curtain of her doorway ascended imperceptibly, just a hesitant crack for him to peek inside and confirm that she indeed stood there and next thing she knew he had stepped in, double-checking to yank the heavy veil close securely. Not that it mattered. Carol had no idea what to expect from the impending conversation, but a hunch quivering in her chest kept shrieking that tonight no one would pay her a visit and interrupt them. Or maybe it wasn't a hunch, maybe it was Maggie's infamous determination to guard her entrance like a bulldog.

There was no acknowledgement or salutation between them. They just locked eyes, both with unfathomable expressions glistening profoundly in them and Daryl meandered nervously, before halting dead in his tracks in front of her.

He willed his hand to stop shaking and reached out to lower the scarf wrapped deftly around her neck – that, and only that would suffice for him to know she was concealing something even in the rare case scenario that he had been completely oblivious to what that was; the careful wrap of the scarf was not Carol, hers was unceremonious and casual, like her- revealing a flesh cloaked with inflammatory rashes and bruises. "That hurts?" he muttered, swallowing hard, voice thick with emotion.

She fidgeted, shifting her weight nervously and finally shrugged. "A little."

The hoarseness of her voice was unsettling and he almost winced. Almost. "Are you on meds?" he went on, keeping her gaze nonetheless.

Carol nodded. "Painkillers. For my ribs, not my neck," she clarified, clearing her throat the best she could.

"We have enough?"

"Yeah." She was in desperate hurry to change the subject. "Where have you been?"

"The woods," he murmured as he broke their unfaltering eye contact, bowing his head. Calloused fingers glided along the hem of the elegant garment around her neck. This scarf was new, she didn't possess it four days ago.

Blue gaze darted over his hands and she smiled, taking in the stark contrast of fine silk and coarse skin. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" she whispered, brushing her fingertips over his.

"Yeah," Daryl rasped, only this time his eyes had flicked up again, scorching holes on her face, his mind almost entirely ruling out the scarf.

"And delicate." Carol faced him again, almost beaming in the penumbra of the cell and he nodded, painfully swallowing the lump in his throat. "And precious," she said, receiving another nod. "Glenn and Maggie went for a run yesterday and brought it for me."

Daryl coughed. He knew she kept babbling because he was just standing there like a dumbfounded teenager, gawking at her like a creep. He would have to say something eventually, but was too distracted with their fingers, fiddling with the garment and together at once… And then there was that twinkle waltzing around in her eyes too… "I guess they had to go for a run. Nothing edible survived my little visit in the kitchen," he grumbled.

Carol shrugged. "Doesn't matter. We're gonna be fine."

"What did he tell you?" he blurted suddenly, blindsiding her, and she felt her blood crystallize, lips pressed in a firm line. Not knowing how to decipher and handle the silence, Daryl pushed it more. "You were holding your ground, didn't look afraid at all. And then he told you something and you gave up. I was there, I saw it. What did he tell you?"

Her lips twitched and her chin started to tremble. Indulging in her first impulse, she disentangled her fingers from him but he snatched them back in place, the ethereal silk pleats drifted momentarily before lacing between them again. "Doesn't matter," she mumbled, barely audibly.

Nostrils flared immediately and jaw clenched. "It was about me," he growled, her adamant reluctance to elaborate spoke volumes and the urge to run again suddenly claimed him.

It was his turn to try to jerk his hand away, the other balled into a fist, but Carol buried her nails in his flesh, the silk threads on the scar wearing out, wriggled in the middle of a steel grip. "Don't," she said, retorting the firm look and he was pinned on the spot, taken aback by the sober hardness of her tone.

As his rage simmered down and his breathing stabilized, she relaxed her hand and his fingers stroked the fabric around them, straightening the stretched threads. "We're ruining it," he whispered and glanced up to catch her face soften again.

"So what?" She smiled. "It will have its own scars. Only gonna make it all the more unique and precious."

Fresh tears welled up in his eyes, their gazes felt like gladiators crossing their swords, vying to disarm without hurting each other. So many unspoken truths soaring in the air between them. So much relief that the scarred scarf was wrapped around her and not hanging from the hook of the empty cell. "I froze," he choked and both their hands were painfully entwined together around the silk in a flash, knuckles turning white.

"I know," she said calmly, transmitting courage he willingly absorbed through the unyielding clasp, otherwise he would have slumped on the floor.

"You'd be dead if it wasn't for them." Silent tears rolled down his face and neither of them made the slightest effort to swipe them away, hands too preoccupied with holding on to each other and the scarf between them.

"I know everything. They told me." Her eyes were dry and steadfast, supporting him.

Daryl towered over her and she didn't flinch. "I froze. I've never frozen in my life." His voice wavered again, dripping guilt and repentance and agony and everything clamped inside him for far too long. "I didn't freeze when my fuckin' walker brother lunged at me."

Carol nodded.

"Forgive me," he demanded. It came out as a command but it was mere desperation that gnarled his voice.

"For what?"

"For everything." He leaned closer. "Say it," he rasped, voice husky, uneven, almost pleading. "Say you forgive me."

"Kiss me," she countered, eyeing him evenly.

He exhaled a shaky breath and cupped her neck, stroking the fading bruises of the strangling grip. He glued his lips on hers, initiating a kiss for the first time in his life, and she fisted his shirt. When her tongue swept hesitantly in his sealed mouth, his lips cracked open just a slit to allow her entrance, his own tongue meeting hers halfway. They lingered like that for a while, mouths moving, exploring and savoring each other.

She had experienced death, knew what lied beneath. Void. Darkness. Pitch black. He wasn't the one who died technically, although watching her life slipping away from him equaled dying a thousand deaths. But that over there, right now and right there wasn't death. It was life. Colorful, joyous, blissful life. Their life. Their clean slate to start over after death annihilated everything. Their time to live on with their scars and the torn scarf crammed between them.

Carol broke the kiss first. "Why did you freeze?" Knowing the answer herself wasn't enough, she needed to verify he knew it too. "Say it," she whispered. "Before it's too late."

"I couldn't… The thought that you… How…" he stuttered, suddenly stiffening and shifting his weight but made no move to bolt and Carol felt guilty for cornering him like that.

All she was searching for mirrored inside his eyes, words were trivial, a technicality naturally omitted since their silences conveyed more than any kind of confessions and pompous declarations ever would. "Because you love me," she stated softly.

"Yeah," he breathed, eyelashes fluttering, hard gaze melting.

She heaved a sigh. "Are you leaving again?"

"No."

"Never?"

"No," he moaned and then smiled imperceptibly as cool fingers shunted an unruly mop of hair away from his eyes. He had missed this.

They knew each other intrinsically, inherently, like floating souls gravitating together through eternity.

"I forgive you."

_The End_

* * *

**Phew… This is it :) I feel like a huge weight has been removed from my shoulders!**

**A hug to LaurenEmilyxx, whose heart I ripped apart with these cliffhangers, but she's always so sweet.**

**I promised to some of you an analysis of these three so controversial chapters. **

**So, if you're not up for a writer's ranting (absolutely understandable, I can bore myself to death), thank you for reading up to here and I would extremely appreciate a review :) And I only need one more favorite to reach 100! Please, please, please!**

**If you're still with me, though… LET'S DO THIS!**

**The shared POVs of the three parts were the reason I couldn't limit the story to two. Part I is mostly Carol, Part II is mostly Daryl, Part III is more collective. No matter how hard I tried to divide it in two parts, Daryl's POV always spread between them and it made no sense for the pace of the story.**

**What I wanted to do was to write a really dark story, with a happy twist in the end, as always. I also wanted to give Carol a death scene, because that gave me the chance to delve into her mind, her back and forth, her feelings and everything she considered worth paying attention to in her final moments (Sophia, Daryl, the sky and the sun, not even a glimpse at the Governor; that was absolutely intentional). It was by far the hardest part to write, but it was a side of her I couldn't approach in any other way. The drama escalated by the fact she believed Daryl didn't love her. **

**Furthermore, the main objective was to give Daryl a deep psychogram, to throw him into an emotional roller coaster without warning and have him regret and re-evaluate everything when Carol is on the threshold of death. But most of all, I wanted to understand him and stress the reasons behind his behavior. The way I approach the character, Daryl is a man who acts the way he does for certain reasons and I felt the only way to make him justice was to acknowledge them. He's not weak when he freezes in front of her, he has just realized where **_**his**_** choices led them both and it's impossible to come to terms with that.**

**As much as we love him, he's a very hard man and can be really brutal sometimes even if he has the best of intentions and means well. I think this contradiction is the backbone of this character and what makes him extremely interested. In this story, that's precisely what I'm trying to explore, how all this awful behavior completely backfires on him. Both of them had to be broken to the core, especially Daryl for whom Carol's death comes as a punishment and a massive kick in the rear to prove that he has no power over their lives. Playing God and making life decisions on her behalf led him to absolute disaster even though he only wanted to protect her. He made his bargain with himself and the universe, but it wasn't just his to make.**

**Of course, you would never believe I would kill Carol off on these terms, right? **_**Right?**_

**I hope you found the finale satisfying. I know I had to grit my teeth to avoid being overly fluffy. There's nothing I wanted more than this but it wouldn't be in league with the previous chapters. It was a dark story about death and loss and grief and it couldn't turn into a picnic all of a sudden, so I tried to balance it and keep the emotion raw, yet heart-breaking. **

**Maybe it's not humiliating to admit that I was crying writing them clutching fingers around a scarf. There's this phrase in Part I "Death was absence, was her silk scarf hanging laxly from a hook in her cell, waiting for her to drape it casually around her neck. Death was the raking fear that the next sunrise would find him alive, sitting in her bunk, in the middle of an empty, frigid cell with the soft garment brushing his fingertips like a windblown curtain and for a fleeting moment he would snap his head peering at the doorway, hallucinating her emerging there and the last words he ever uttered – **_**Stay the fuck away from me**_**, that full-blown lie that ended both their last interactions- wouldn't bear the irrevocable finality that wrecked him." The fact that Daryl has Carol there, alive, with a scarf wrapped around her is the redemption I chose for him. They both have a long, rocky path to ascend to overcome the trauma they suffered, but a silk thread between them will show them the way :)**

**In case you have stuck around for so long and still reading this, what can I say? I love you all and I'm blown away by your devotion to this story. It wouldn't have gone far without you in the first place and I'm painfully aware of that. I can only hope you feel I'm constantly trying my best to keep posting decent chapters :) Thank you.**


	30. Happy Birthday

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**This is a very special chapter :) I came up with the idea, because two very loved people have their birthday in June, one of them is in this fandom. So, it's really important for me to have made justice to this story.**_

_**I'm awfully behind getting back to you all, I know and I apologize. It's been crazy lately and I was out of town again… Well, sorry!**_

_**Hope you like this update! It's dedicated to everyone who celebrates his/hers birthday in June, with a huge smile and the best of wishes!**_

_**The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

Plucking his knife out of the milky eye socket, he ducked for cover behind the wooden stakes of the fence, striving to minimize the thump of the slackened rotten corpse next to him. The road was littered with walkers, only too close to him, no more than a few feet. Tempted to the core to just cross it with a fast sprint at the sight of the house's swinging wide open door, makeshift barricades jumbled on the porch, Daryl had to mentally refrain himself on the spot. No way to do that without attracting too much unsolicited attention.

Maybe the shortcut wasn't the appropriate approach, maybe he had to try another detour. He cussed under his breath; he was running late, too late already, almost a day behind after being fool enough to get himself snared in that gun store – which, on the top of it all, was swiped clean of anything useful- and he had literally camped there, uselessly, anticipating with bated breath for the herd to roam away. Once free again, he had contemplated on going back empty handed, but that was not an option he would ever grant himself. No such luxury as detours and bullshit. He had longed to play hero again and that was the retaliation. He had almost gotten himself killed more times than he could count and he didn't stand a chance to get back in time, if at all.

Eagerness riled him up, thrusting him on the edge as his jaw clenched painfully. There must be a way. He couldn't go down or disappear like that; no one knew where he was and what he was after. Fuck. He should have told Rick at least, make sure she got the memo in case he never returned. But he didn't want to share the chivalry credits with anyone else; Merle was right after all, he really was a hopeless, sweet pussy. Cocky behavior always backfired, a hunter knows better than to underestimate a situation or an uncharted territory; he should have been better prepared for the possibility that this part of the state was littered with walkers.

Eyes darted slothfully on the chubby male figure he had dispatched seconds before and he balled his fists, straining to tune out the adjacent groans. His mind was made up instantly, not a moment to waste anymore, he had probably already destroyed the mood back in the prison. With one abrupt motion, he plunged the knife in the walker's belly, lacerating it jaggedly. His face scrunched up once the slimy substance spurted out accompanied with the wicked stench of extreme putrefaction. He was going with the shortcut, sauntering between them, pretending to be one of them and he'd sought to stave off thoughts of the promises he had made himself that a Dixon would always come up with a better, less humiliating idea than drench himself in walker gunk and guts to go unnoticed. Unnoticed wasn't the Dixon way.

Swallowing hard nausea and repulsion, he bedaubed the first handful of gore on his shoulder, steel determination sparking in his narrowed eyes. His jaw clenched. He had more important things to consider than his dented ego. He had to grab what he came all this way for and go back. Quickly and alive. He had screwed everything up beyond reason. Carol would be disappointed and worried sick; she was stupid enough to convince herself that he had high-tailed on purpose and lose her sleep over his sorry ass.

* * *

"You kids are having fun?" Rick was smirking, one of the rare times since what seemed like forever and Carol couldn't help but notice how much younger he looked like this as she climbed the last steps and joined him on the perch of the watch tower.

"How did the leader get stuck with watch duty during a party?" she grinned back, leaning on the railing next to him.

He sighed, shaking his head, but that smirk was still there. "Everyone ditched me, wanted to be part of the celebration."

"So you got stuck with the dirty job again." Carol patted him on the back, half mockingly half in understanding, but when she spoke again, her tone was serious despite the wink. "Use this as a reminder next time you worry about being our Governor. You are nothing like him."

Rick took his time to absorb her words, nodding. "What about your gifts?" he finally asked, nudging her in the side.

"It's funny we still get to exchange presents during the apocalypse. I swear there's no scarf left in a ten mile radius. I have more scarves than I can probably wear in a lifetime."

"Scarves, huh?"

"Yep. And only one pair of sexy underwear," she sulked.

He raised an eyebrow. "Maggie?"

"Who else? I don't know what to make of it, I should probably be offended." Carol kept her lips pouted but her familiar playfulness was there. "Why would people assume I need scarves more than lacy panties?"

Rick giggled and draped an arm around her shoulders, tugging her closer. There was ease and comfort between them. Being physical had come naturally at some point, as siblings would, after overcoming their differences. "Am I the only one who killed the mood by being practical?" he asked, eyeing her apologetically.

"You're kidding me?" she huffed. "Practical is the new sexy. And that knife is awesome."

"It needs sharpening though. Daryl will take care of that," he blundered impulsively, not thinking about it twice. The moment he heard the words out loud, he regretted touching the subject. Carol's face dropped immediately and her gaze darted to the edge of the woods. He was certain she probably hadn't enjoyed a single moment of the night with Daryl still gone, virtually missing. "He's fine you know," he offered.

She didn't blink as she strived not to allow her feigned composure to disrupt, gaze remaining fixed in a faraway spot, straining to pierce through the pitch black of the night, lips pressed in a firm line, breaths suddenly ragged. "Then why isn't he here?" she croaked and the joyous, nonchalant face shattered in a million pieces.

"Sometimes things get weird out there. You know that." It wasn't much of a comfort, he knew, but at least it was honest and not manipulative, trying to soothe without patronizing and Carol was appreciative of that.

"He's alone, Rick," she whispered after a pause to stabilize her tone, voice thick with emotion. "If anything happens…"

"He'll be back any moment now," he interrupted her immediately.

Swallowing hard and blinking tears away, Carol mustered everything she had to shake the disturbing thoughts off. "Maybe he fled the place from fear that I'll chase him around in my new sexy underwear," she laughed bitterly.

Rick tilted her chin, forcing her to face him. "Just between you and me, I don't think he'd mind that much if you did," he snickered.

Carol quirked a brow at him and smiled hastily, but quit trying to keep the jokes flowing. Too worried, too scared. This wasn't right. He should have been there.

Ghosts from the past crept in, claiming her ostensible self-control. He had left them in the past. Without warning. Maybe this was happening again. Maybe he had gone off, alone this time. She dreaded this thought. And the alternative scenarios were all worse. If he hadn't disappeared deliberately, he had disappeared because something else had happened.

"He's not leaving again," Rick punctuated her haze, fears and qualms mirrored evidently in her creased forehead. "You know that."

"How?" she choked, allowing just a single sob to jar her chest.

He responded in a flash, confidently, voice solemn and stern, not the slightest doubt writhing inside. "His choice was made when he got back. It was final. I knew the moment he showed up. And deep down you did too. And you know you had everything to do with it."

Carol swallowed back the lump blistering on her throat; she didn't know, neither deep down nor on the surface. She had no idea, because he was supposed to be there and he wasn't. "Do you even know where he went?"

"He only said he'd be gone for a couple of days." Rick shrugged. "I thought if anyone knew where he was headed, it would be you."

"He told me to stop sticking my nose in his business," she confessed and Rick sighed.

"Hey…" He was looking for her eyes again, his own wide and stubborn. "I'm worried, too. But he's ok and he'll come back in one piece." This time, when she glanced up at him, she nodded.

"Only a Dixon can kill a Dixon," they chanted in unison, shoulder to shoulder, wary gazes conveying courage to each other.

* * *

It was haunting inside. He felt that he invaded her personal space, her past self, violating her privacy without being granted to do so. This was her home. He had no business sauntering around on the debris of a life he wasn't part of. It was a miserable one, he knew. But Sophia's presence was shedding bright light through every crack.

Guilt washed over him. Maybe she didn't even want him in there. What kind of perv was he, sneaking inside the place she shared her life with another man, stalking her choices, peeping tactlessly for a glimpse at the person she used to be, once upon a time? There was something luring in the thought of getting to know her deeper and he couldn't even put his finger on why it was so. Just like he fidgeted nervously every time he wondered why he had imprudently thrown himself in this redundant jeopardy, only to offer her what she wanted. Despite everyone always regarding him like he was a big cosmic mystery, Carol had figured him out pretty fast and it was she that he couldn't fathom. There was no interpretation for his need to make her happy.

The place had been looted, not right after hell broke loose, later. The evidence was plain. He scoffed at the reminiscence of the first days of the breakthrough, when people ransacked anything they thought could be later resold in the black market with profit, misjudging the whole situation as a fortunate twist to strike gold. He had thought back then that it was a low attitude, but later realized it was just the first step downhill.

Everything of value was still strewn around, every single electric and electronic device in perfect order, neat and tidy. It was the kitchen cabinets that had been savagely pillaged. Whoever broke in was desperate for food, couldn't care less for money, probably too immersed in fighting day to day survival, same way the lady of this house did, miles and miles away from there.

Daryl bit his lip; suddenly the trivial technicality of respiration had become a challenging task. He slowly walked in the living room; liquor, of course, lots of it, stashed the same way his father and later Merle stashed theirs. Son of a bitch needed a good fill of that to beat a woman. And photos. Lots of photos. Somehow he had expected that from Carol; that she would have covered every inch of her place with pictures.

Sophia's, mostly. He felt his chin tremble at the set of blue eyes staring back at him, laughing behind the glass, plaited with every kind of frame. He had tried so hard to track down this little girl, he had believed so deeply and adamantly she was alive and he'd manage to find her and bring her back to Carol till the very last moment…

But there were family pictures as well. Old and recent ones. Carol with long, curly hair, Ed's arm around her. The older the photo was the happier she looked. The broad smiles had gradually turned into tight lips when Ed stood by her side, this inverse proportion progressive but evident. Only the ones she shared with Sophia seemed to maintain a degree of cheerfulness.

Every nerve on his face twitched when he distinguished one on the background, half hidden. It was their wedding. Carol in a white gown, with a fancy hairdo and a bouquet of roses, grinning to Ed ear to ear, glowing beauty and happiness. And her husband returned the adoring look, arms wrapped around her waist. There was an answer hinted in there for Daryl; an answer to a question he had never dared to utter. How the hell she had ended up with him? He knew now, inspecting this picture cautiously; she had been tricked. Ed seemed caring and decent, her man of honor.

Snatching the picture abruptly, he hurled it across the room and watched it smash into pieces on the wall tapestry. He failed to blow off his steam and as rage kept simmering inside his veins, he took a few long strides and trampled the remnants under his boot.

Curiosity got the better of him and he opened the top drawer of the bureau next to the wall to find a camera resting there. The temptation was just too overwhelming to resist. Pressing the play button, he gritted his teeth, ready for the worst. Carol had told him once that Ed took sick pleasure taping the torments he inflicted on her occasionally. The sound that spurted wasn't Ed's guttural groans, though; it was a gargling laughter, fresh and babbling like a brook, Sophia. Red cheeks, blue eyes identical to those he had gotten so fond of during the time, a sparkly, full of glitter, party hat on the top of her frizzy, blonde hair, the slim rubber band clinging beneath her chin, arms splayed on both sides of the birthday cake on the kitchen table and… Jesus, she wore the same blue t-shirt with the rainbow stamp she had on the day she went missing and then again when she stumbled out of the barn.

He inhaled deeply and momentarily shut his eyes. The camera was moving closer. It was no mystery to who the little girl would grin to, certainly not her dad. God, he had to stop this, he felt like a creep, peeping into those women's moments through a time slit, uninvited. Only he couldn't stop, enchanted as if by a spell, especially when the camera steadied on the countertop and _she_ entered the picture. Daryl felt sick.

Under different circumstances, he would have never recognized the woman who hurried to Sophia's side to finish off singing _Happy_ _Birthday_ and watch her blow out her twelve candles. She looked older, drained and she definitely wasn't beautiful. But Carol _was_ beautiful, maybe not right from the beginning, but somewhere along the way she started shining, radiating a glow that encompassed her like a heavenly halo. What the fuck… What was he thinking?

He was there for a reason, dammit, he had a mission he seemed to have completely forgotten. Tucking offhandedly as many pictures he could in his backpack, he swung it over his shoulder and moved to get out of there as quickly as possible, but halted dead in his tracks in the hallway, gaze skittering between the stairs leading to the bedrooms and back to the living room. No, he wouldn't go to see the bed she shared with him. But he'd indulge in the temptation… Cussing himself loudly, he marched to the coffee table purposely, unhooked a tiny frame to release a photo where she was alone and shoved it hastily in his back pocket, not bothering to look at it twice. This one was his.

* * *

Carol had avoided him persistently. After exhaling a huge puff of relief wriggling in her gut for far too long when Beth told her he was back safe and sound, she kept herself busy with all the mundane housework chores she was constantly swamped with anyway. Around dinner time, just before most members of their old group and new additions fan out in the makeshift canteen, she wormed out unperceived and headed straight to her cell.

Once she was reassured he was back, fear for his life had subsided only to be replaced by anger and indignation. She didn't want to see him, not right now. As if disappearing without as much as a heads up about his whereabouts to any of them wasn't enough, he returned a day later than he had initially told Rick, missed her long anticipated birthday party and, on the top of it all, he hadn't even looked for her the entire day to offer a grumpy, belated wish.

Until she entered her cell. Her heart ached, clenched in a tight knot as she gently caressed the Cherokee rose lying above Sophia's photo, a frame her little girl had made herself. It was on her cot, resting scrupulously with the camera right next to it. And dumped on the cement floor was his backpack, with even more photos inside.

Carol cried. For what seemed like endless hours, tugging the photos of her daughter against her chest, she just cried and cried. Tears rolled freely watching the video of Sophia's last birthday over and over until her head starting throbbing from a migraine and the violent sobs rampaged her breath. And then it was over, abruptly, just like it started. She wiped her eyes and grabbed the photo and the camera, exiting her cell.

Daryl was plopped down on the stairs outside the main prison building, slouching heavily against the wall, evidently exhausted, eyes darting absently in the darkness enveloping them and she was instantly aware, completely out of the blue, that he was waiting for her. She found it impossible to suppress the smile that flourished in her face, he looked ready to fall asleep right there, so spent he wasn't even alerted by her close presence. Or, at least, that's what she assumed.

"I thought you disappeared because you hated the idea of me getting older," Carol chimed in, sinking on the spot next to him with a light squeeze on his shoulder.

Daryl scoffed and shot her a derisive glance, registering the dried tears and her red-rimmed eyes. "I ran into a herd on my way there. Got stalled."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked softly. "I would have come with you."

Stupid woman. What kind of surprise would that be if he had posted a banner? Or if he had dragged her there to get her killed? "Too dangerous," he grumbled, shaking his head. "The entire county was swamped with geeks."

"You shouldn't have put yourself in danger." The tone of her voice was firm but she didn't match it. When he squinted at her once more, she only seemed concerned. "I mean it."

He shrugged. "I can manage myself."

"How was the house?"

"Intact." A lie. A solacing lie. No reason for her to know that strangers had been plundering in her house same way they did in all these properties with no one around to defend them.

Carol's eyes grew wide in disbelief. "Really?"

"Yep," he went on quickly. "Everything right in their place." The reaction he got wasn't the one he anticipated, though. She scowled and spaced out immediately. "Thought this was good news," Daryl muttered.

"I don't know how I feel about that house," she admitted absently, shrugging. "It never felt… mine. Sometimes I wonder if it really ever existed… That world… That place… That life… Sophia…" The imperceptible brush of their shoulders dragged her back to reality and she cleared he throat, squinting his way only to catch him hastily averting his wary stare from her face.

Scooting over the railing to gain a better view of him, she eyed him intensely, but spoke merrily to avoid scaring him off. "You remembered." The tip of her boot poked his thigh. Testing the waters with Daryl was always, hands down, the most hazardous and unpredictable emotional task one could engage with. It could serve her anything, literally. From a crooked smile to ten days straight without as much as a word or a peek.

He instantly gnawed at his thumbnail and shifted his weight. "Didn't remember shit," he grunted. "It's all you're yapping about all the time."

"That's not true," Carol sighed. "I only mentioned I wished I had a photo of Sophia once and it was to you." Outwardly, she looked calm and grateful. Inwardly, she screamed at how skittish he was, jerking as if he needed to vindicate himself from false accusations. "Thank you." She cupped his knee with her hand, hoping to pin him on the spot.

"Ain't nothing," he muttered, frowning, but didn't move an inch nevertheless. He cared, ok? Everyone knew. It's not like she had to call him out all the time, every fuckin' opportunity he gave her; and, fuck, he gave her a lot, didn't he?

Carol narrowed her eyes and checked him out cautiously, slouching back at the railing. "It's a little bit more to me," she confessed, quirking her eyebrows and offering her tight-lipped, yet sincere smile. Deep down it amazed her he was still lingering there, all flustered up and bashful to death at her gratitude. "You brought me pretty much everything Sophia's memory is related with. Thank you."

Daryl was relieved to detect no tears lurking in her voice despite the sorrow and it was the last thing she expected when he lolled his head and met her inquisitive gaze, gripping it firmly. "You were a good momma," he rasped, voice gruff, yet confident. "You deserve a fuckin' picture of your child." The effort to articulate those strained words took him everything he had and her blue eyes waltzing on him made it impossible to breathe properly.

Blinking away new tears that welled up at the sound of his declaration, Carol clutched the picture he had left at the cot. "She made this frame in kindergarten," she explained, smiling at the memory. "She had to garnish it with pebbles and shells and she was so worked up that she was gluing her fingers together I couldn't stop laughing. Look how flushed she's here. I took that picture the moment after she finished it, all excited and cheering."

He was glad he never had to openly ask for whatever it was that he wanted. Sorting this photo and the camera out of the pile was all the allusion Carol needed to comprehend that he'd like to know more. "Who wrote that?" he pointed at the back of the frame.

"She said it was for me and she wanted to write "I love you, mommy" and made it perfectly clear that she, and only _she_, would write _anything_ on this frame. I guided her hand." Carol chuckled a little. "When it was done she said writing is no fun, she'd stick to gluing shells."

Daryl found himself chuckling with her. "Smart kid."

She grabbed the camera then and Sophia's giggles flooded the air between them. "This is from her last birthday. Ed had disappeared for more than a week and we had the time of our lives."

"She looks happy," he offered, gawking at Carol's face, partly worried, partly curious.

"She was," Carol nodded. "That day she was."

"Yeah, I bet." Daryl elbowed her knee to shatter her daze and smiled mischievously, until she glanced up at him. "I would have shit my pants for a cake like that," he drawled pointedly.

Carol laughed and excused herself, saying she'd be back in a second as she paused the camera and disappeared behind the entrance. He thought she needed a moment alone and sighed deeply, eyes darting at the frozen picture. Once again he was mesmerized by the caption. Damn it, she had thrived. When everything went to hell, Carol Peletier had thrived. All of them were painfully aware of the swift pace their bodies were withering, betraying them day after day due to the imposed hardship, but she had fuckin' blossomed in the middle of a walker apocalypse. She looked ten years younger compared to the woman in the camera, despite being two years older. Hastily, he dropped it beside him when soft steps approached.

Carol crouched next to him, beaming. "What's this?" he asked, taking the plate in his hands.

"A cake like that," she motioned towards the frozen snap shot of the camera, parroting his words. "From yesterday. I saved it for you." The teasing tone in her voice rang crystal clear and he closed his eyes stoically, bracing himself for what was next; fuck, he knew it was coming. "Please don't shit your pants here," she bantered.

Daryl bit his lips to stifle a chortle only for him to miserably fail. It was ridiculous that he found himself having fun again and act like a teenager around her. Despite his efforts to convince himself otherwise, he enjoyed her company and was so comfortable it made him wonder what was wrong with this woman. "Thought you were pissed," he snorted a laugh.

"I was," she deadpanned. "Maybe it's poisoned."

His gaze skimmed between the cake and Carol for a few moments. She had mustered all her acting talent, but the playfulness creeping there was divulged both by her twitching lips and the sparkling blue eyes; they would have to work on her poker face harder, mental note made. "Nah…" He shook his head, fighting back a smirk. "I'll take my chances. You cook too damn well."

"Good enough to risk getting murdered?" she swaggered with mock innocence and by the amusement smoothening every facial line of her features he knew she had caught his muffled smile. Maybe they had to work on his poker face as well.

"It's a fucked up world," he huffed. "And last time I checked Merle wasn't around to gimme hell about it." He hesitated for a moment, as if pondering on his options, before finally nodding. "I could do worse." The first spoon of the cake was already shoveled in his mouth and he moaned with delight.

"Next time you decide to loot my home, take me with you," she said in all seriousness. "There's one last thing in there I want and you didn't bring it."

"What?" he grunted, his stomach instantly twisting.

Carol dodged the question. "It's under the mattress of the main bedroom."

"What?" This time he growled, exasperated and fuming. God knows what she'd be hiding under the mattress, away from that asshole husband of hers. It could be anything really, it's not like he allowed her to possess anything she liked, even needed. Fuck. His jaw ached as the same rage that erupted at the sight of their wedding picture started slithering in the center of his gut again. What he wouldn't give for a chance to have the asshole alive in front of him; he wouldn't even kill him, just make him useful, urging the entire group to practice on him, like a punching bag.

Carol stooped closer conspiratorially and Daryl caught himself mimicking her stance, grave concern creasing his brow. "My vibrator," she stated solemnly and instantly burst into giggles.

Of course the freaking crumb stuck in his throat right at that moment. As if the embarrassment of her relentless taunting wasn't enough, he was coughing and gasping for air now, his entire body jerking. Fuck, was this dampness tears rolling in his cheeks? Fuck, just fuck. "Jesus fucikn' Christ. Are you trying to kill me here?" he hissed, face and lungs on fire.

"With the vibrator or the pie?" she asked sheepishly, eyelashes fluttering.

"No, no, no," he grumbled. "Don't wanna know shit about it."

Shuffling a little closer, Carol rested a hand on his arm, claiming his attention. "Don't freak out, ok?" she whispered. "I'm only gonna kiss you on the cheek."

He remained stone still when her breath scorched his face and soft lips brushed his skin. She could never know that he felt zero inclination in flinching away, he actually had to fight back leaning into her touch. Something had happened and he couldn't comprehend when or how or why, but a deep alteration had occurred down the road. He was different, irreversibly so.

Cool fingers raked his hair, shunting a mop away from his eyes and he didn't resist. "Thank you, ok?" she whispered, hating the redness on his face. Even the tips of his ears were crimson as if ripe to sputter sparks any moment now and he would spontaneously combust to avoid the embarrassment of being her hero. That was the thing with him; he always did everything to help and support her and was erratic at any expression of gratitude later. Not particularly so tonight, though. It was unbelievable he had planted himself there for so long and, despite his awkward swallowing, there might have been a content twinkle somewhere there. "Please don't feel awful for making me happy."

He nodded, avoiding her gaze, but the corner of his lips quirked upwards enough for her to notice. Outwardly, inflamed blushing and crooked smile were all there was. Inwardly, though, he swelled with pride like Don Quixote for his outstanding accomplishment and no amount of self-castigation seemed to rinse the smugness away. Worst part was, she probably knew. Goal achieved, then. He had made her happy. Fuck, yeah!

And then there was that light squeeze on his shoulder again, the unfaltering sign of her arrival or departure and he arrested himself longing for it. No. He actually loathed it, because it meant she was leaving. The thought startled him and he shook his head, shoving it away.

"Goodnight, Daryl." A soft whisper and then a frigid spot on his skin lacking any tinge of warmth, just where her gentle touch had been.

"Hey, Carol." He whirled around to meet a broad smile, his own still lingering across his lips. "Happy birthday."

* * *

_**This is it… Hope you liked it! I just wanted Daryl to be the knight here and for the chapter to end with a huge Happy Birthday!**_

_**I have a request to write for one of the chapters to come and your help would be really useful here. A song, a great, romantic song for Daryl and Carol to dance in a special occasion, let's say Glenn's and Maggie's wedding. Any suggestions?**_

_**Thank you all for reading :) A review would be much appreciated :)**_

11


	31. My Family

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**I was shocked by all these responses for a song to accompany a dance between Daryl and Carol :) So, you realize I can't squeeze every idea in one chapter and one dance, but… My sneaky mind is working on ways to satisfy you all. In the next couple of chapters most of you will see the songs you suggested being part of the story. Those of you who won't, just give me some more time and it will be there. Your voices have been heard, all of them, I promise :) At least one of the songs each of you requested will be up soon.**_

_**About this chapter right here… Many people want to see Carol pregnant and Daryl's reaction to that, or them having a baby etc. I've always been very insecure about touching this subject, but I had promised I would give it a shot anyway. This is a reverse kind of approach, though. It's us, watching their lives through the eyes of their child. I have no idea why I felt safer following this path. My guess is that I could time jump all the awkward situations and get a glimpse of them years later. Well, you know how this works… Let's talk about it thoroughly 4.500 words later :)**_

_**Thank you all for being so great to me. I'm so grateful that I'm not able to articulate it!**_

_**Peta2 has worked her miracle again :) Thank you!**_

_**The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

"You need a massage or something?" Carol was smiling to him, serenity glowing in her face, hands on the hips.

Eleven years had passed since the first time she had met him and the sight of him never ceased to amaze her. Time, hardship, day to day survival had claimed their toll on all of them, but somehow he had contrived a way to remain handsome, to grow inside her with each passing day. Not that it had been anything close to easy, especially in the beginning.

Daryl was slouched on the couch of their compound, gaze lingering on her inquisitively. "Naw… Just come here," he said calmly, stretching a hand she grasped in a flash before crouching in front of him.

It had taken him years and years even after he had admitted his feelings, even after they started sharing the same bed, even after their little duo was extended; it had taken him years to allow his eyes to dart over her unabashedly, even when she was staring right back at him. "She's asleep?" he asked, the heel of his free hand rubbing a set of hollow eyes, weariness glistening inside them.

"Yep," Carol laughed, her fingers raking through his ever overgrown hair in which grayish mops had lately spread, tangled up with brown ones and matching the light shade of his eyes. "I tried to keep her awake, but she was dead on her feet. Apparently hide and seek for six hours straight is more than she can take."

"Apparently," Daryl chuckled, leaning in to her touch. Amazing what this woman kept doing to him as if all these years had inflicted neither habit nor boredom on them. A single touch, a soft caress and the fatigue of an endless day's manual labor was wiped away like it was nothing.

"Maybe you should head to bed too," she whispered, cupping his face. "You look exhausted."

"Fuck," he grumbled. "Can't you just plant your skinny ass down for a second?"

Quirking an eyebrow, Carol stood up and took a few steps towards the kitchen table, self-consciously swaying her thighs gracefully, savoring the sensation of his piercing gaze on her back. It meant warmth that look she just knew was always there, never failing to hurl a quaver in her lower belly despite their age, despite their harsh routine. She took their daughter's notebook and headed back to the couch, smirking at the mischievous smile spread all over Daryl's face.

"Feel like reading what she wrote about her family?" Carol plopped down next to him.

"It's for school?" he asked, pointing at the notebook in her lap and watched her nodding.

Daryl relaxed on the couch and she settled in his arms. "Bring it on, then."

'My Family'

"_My family is a small family. Me, my mom and my dad. I had an older sister, Sophia, but she went to heaven before I was born. If she was still with us, she would be 23 now. I'm only 8._

_My father is Daryl Dixon. My mother is Carol Peletier. They never got married. Mom says none of them ever needed this kind of formalities and she's a Dixon no matter what and dad says marriage and stuff are (bad word) and that mom is even more of a Dixon than he is and whoever (bad word starting from f) has a problem with that can step up and declare it. But I have the best parents ever."_

"And that's what I call an opening," Carol giggled.

Daryl was biting his lip, unsure of how he was supposed to react. "You said this is for school?"

"Yep. This is gonna be fun."

"_Sometimes, if I have a bad nightmare, they let me sleep with them. It was better when I was a little one. I could climb between them in the bed and still have free space around me. But now I'm a big girl and it sucks big time, because I'm crammed in the middle and I can't turn around all I like and my dad always says I kick like a horse the next day. I get angry when he says that. It's not good for a girl to be like a horse. Once I asked him to at least call me a pony and he and mom laughed so hard they cried. I was furious._

"_Stop pouting, sweetheart," mom said._

"_What is pouting?" I asked._

"_It's when you protrude your lips like a petulant child," my mom replied haughtily (difficult word, check) and they both giggled again, because they knew I had all these words I didn't know._

_Grrr… I was so pissed at them that day for mocking me I locked myself in my room until I smelled apple pie and tumbled down the stairs. I had eaten more than half of it in my mom's lap before I remembered that I wasn't speaking to either of them. My dad was serious and nodded when I called them "sneaky" and my mom kissed me and said that I'm a wonderful child and that she loves me. And then I forgave them, because I can't stay mad at my parents for long."_

"My girl is smart," he chuckled. "You do that a lot, you know."

"What?" Carol eyed him sheepishly.

"You have your little, sneaky ways to bring the other exactly where you want."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she mumbled, snuggling closer to his chest.

That only caused him to laugh harder. "Sure you do. It's apple pie with her, you know she can't resist." He tilted her chin until she was forced to meet his gaze. "And you have a thousand tricks with me."

Carol frowned, but her lips flicked cheerfully. "I'm offended."

"No, you ain't."

"_I remember one night I had a really bad nightmare, the worst ever. I dreamt of a walker grabbing my mom while dad and I were splashing in the lake and daddy was running to save her but he wasn't fast enough and the ugly walker bit my mom and I was screaming and screaming, but only in my sleep. When I woke up I was_ _afraid to go back to sleep alone, so I ran to my parents room with Sophia's doll in my arm and swung the door of their bedroom open. That was like the weirdest thing ever. It was the first time I saw my daddy's butt. The only time, really, because I've never seen it again since then. _

_He was on the top of my mom and it was like he was lying there to sleep but he wasn't sleeping. I know it because he was rocking back and forth and he was panting and had his face in my mom's neck and my mom was moaning and, when I yelled at them, dad jumped up with his back on me and never, never, never had I heard him swear so much (and he always swears a lot) and mom wrapped the sheet around her and was all flushed but opened her arms for me and I ran in her embrace. I could tell she was naked as well, but I was crying at that moment so I forgot to ask. When dad joined us and I finally stopped I remembered again, though._

"_Why were you hugging mom, daddy? Did she have a nightmare too?"_

_Dad snorted and blushed but he didn't say anything. Fortunately, mom explained to me what happened, otherwise I would still have the question."Yes, sweetheart, I had a very, very, very bad dream and daddy soothed me."_

"_Good daddy." I stroked his face and giggled because his stubble tickled me. "But why were you naked?"_

"_This is what we do when mom has a (bad word) nightmare," he grunted._

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Daryl huffed, amusement evidently twisting his voice as he ran a hand across his face. "If this one reaches the classroom we're packing and moving away from this fuckin' place."

Carol breathed heavily, clearly in distress. "We're not getting any parents of the year award for that night, you know," she sighed. "Thought she'd have forgotten by now."

"Dixons don't forget."

"Oh my God, you think we traumatized our child for life?"

He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I think she's gonna be just fine."

"And have a long, healthy sex life?" she teased his overprotection.

This time it was his face that dropped immediately, eyes narrowed and darkened, mirroring anger and threat out of nowhere. "Nope. Ain't happening," he growled, before a cool hand on his cheek dragged him back to reality.

"_So the next time I had a nightmare, I took off all my clothes first and ran to my parents naked. _

"_This is what adults do when they have a nightmare. You don't have to do that. You can keep your clothes on. It works better for little persons like you."_

_They giggled so hard, I had never seen my dad so red from laughter and my mom couldn't breathe. And they promised they weren't laughing at me, but I didn't believe them and the other day I wasn't talking to either of them again. Well, until I smelled the apple pie in the oven."_

"See? You did that again," Daryl chuckled once more. "Your own daughter is calling you out."

Carol nudged him in the ribs, trying her best to stifle a giggle. "Will you stop already? I didn't do anything!"

"_My only complaint so far is that they refuse to give me the birthday present I always ask for, every single year. Once I tried to ask for it at Christmas thinking it might work that way, but it still didn't. I want a baby sister or brother to play with. I think it's daddy's fault that I don't get what I want. He said "That ain't happening" and when he says that, it never happens. Mom looked sad and shrugged to me, but also grabbed dad's hand. I could say for sure she disagreed, but took his side anyway. It's awful how they always team up. So, to be honest, I don't think I'm getting that baby at all."_

Carol's forehead creased again. "Told you she'd never give up on that."

"Because she has the same stubborn, pig head you do," Daryl hissed, voice stern and adamant.

"I was willing to try again, you know that," she whispered softly, propping herself up and to lock eyes with him.

They exchanged a hard look, before he was able to control his emotion. "I wasn't," he stated plainly. Carol had almost died giving birth to their daughter and he had almost lost his mind that dreadful night. Almost. After that she wanted to get pregnant again, but Daryl refused to touch her without protection so stubbornly he eventually won the argument. "You think she'd be writing reports now if I was the only one she had?"

"You are a great father." Unfaltering faith rang crystal clear in her voice. "Way better than you give yourself credit for."

Daryl felt his face blushing violently. "Are we reading the rest of this fuckin' novel or not?" he muttered embarrassed.

"_My mom is older than my dad. 4 years and a half older. It doesn't seem a lot to me. Not even all the fingers of my one hand. But aunt Maggie's and uncle Glenn's son, Hershel junior, was laughing at me at school in front of the other kids calling my mom old (I'm sorry, miss Beth, I know he's your nephew, but he was really mean that day). And then the other kids were laughing too and I was crying and yelling that my mom is not old, she just has white hair. But then Judith came and punched HJ in the nose and he was bleeding and now he was the one crying like a baby. Judith is 11 and HJ can't beat her in a fight. I like Judith. But that afternoon they were both grounded and I didn't have anyone around to play._

_My mom didn't cry when I told her, but her eyes were red and her mouth did this twitch it only does when she wants to cry. I know because dad says I do the same thing. Dad got really mad, though, and kicked the table and yelled "(Bad word) people better learn how to mind their own (bad word) business" and then I did the same thing and I hurt my leg but swallowed it down because dad says that_ _big girls don't cry. And I decided I wanted to be a big girl in my last birthday. _

_So, then, she disappeared in the kitchen and dad hushed me and took me in the yard where he showed me a great clutch, to kick HJ's ass for hurting mom, he said. With that trick, I can outpower kids bigger than me and since then I've been kicking asses (am I allowed to use this word?) in school in general, but it's a secret I can't tell mom because she will get mad at dad and dad only wanted to protect her that day. _

_We got really lucky when aunt Maggie came over to tell dad that I should be grounded for hitting HJ and mom wasn't at home. Dad got angry and he was all red and fuming and told her that the way he raises me is none of her (bad word) business and HJ was lucky to get his ass kicked by me and not by him. I felt bad that day and dad apologized to aunt Maggie the day after, because he said she always means well and is a good person. And then I was happy again."_

"I had no idea about this, Mr. Dixon."

Daryl shrugged. "No need to know everything around," he muttered, tomato red by that time.

"Thank you." Carol was beaming at him.

"Ain't nothing." The tips of his ears were scorching painfully, he'd need a bucket of cold water to rinse the shame away any moment now. "You act like you don't know."

"They mess with you, they mess with me," she parroted his words, mimicking his husky voice and extracted an ear to ear grin. She knew Daryl could die if he was caught professing his affection in the most unreasonable ways that were so characteristic of his unpredictable demeanor and she knew how to ebb that unnerving feeling away. "I know. Thank you."

"_But that day, after practicing what dad had taught me for a while, I ran to the kitchen to find my mom and I got really sad with what I saw. Mom was weeping, her arms splayed on the counter and her back was shaking. I almost (__run)__ hurried to hug her tight, but my dad was already there. I was worried he'd scold mom for crying, but he didn't. Dad dragged her in his arms. Wow. He rubbed her back and whispered something I couldn't hear. Wow. When mom lifted her chin, he wiped her tears away. Wow. At this point, I double checked if the man in the kitchen really was my father. I had no idea my dad could be like that. He was sweet. He's always like that with me, but rarely touches mom when I'm there. _

_But that day he seemed like Rick or Glenn and I started wondering how many things are there that I don't know about my parents. I was worried that aliens had kidnapped my real dad and replaced him with a fake one, or a robot, like I had seen in an old movie. Mom mumbled (__said)__ something about finally dyeing her hair and dad said that she was beautiful (wow, again) and if she dared touch anything on her he'd shave her head with the lawn mower. I was a little relieved when I heard that. It really sounded like my dad. When my mom said we don't possess one, dad frowned and grumbled that he'd find one just to get the job done. I was really calm at that moment. Dad definitely sounded like himself and mom was laughing again. I was ready to hop in and join the happy reunion when I saw it happening._

_If this is what kisses are supposed to be between grown-ups, I will never, ever, ever kiss a boy. It was gross, why would they do that? Their mouths were open and I could see my daddy's tongue and I'm sure my mom's tongue was somewhere there as well. Eww, just, eww. But more than gross, it was (__weird)__ bizarre (I nailed that word, didn't I?), because I had never seen anything like that before. Sometimes they kiss in front of me, but it is the right kind of kiss, with mouth shut and lips puckered, just for a second. It's the same they give me, only they kiss in the mouth. And when I saw THAT I was sure that my mom would shove daddy away but she actually seemed to like it and she moaned. And then daddy moaned too and my jaw dropped. Why would people moan during a kiss? Too many weird things around my parents. That was the day I decided to start spying on them and still haven't quit."_

Carol giggled loudly. "Well, there's a kid stalker in town and it's ours."

"Repopulating the earth with a Dixon was always bad news. You should have known better than that. You knew her father."

"And I wouldn't change him for the world," she said, leaning to plant a kiss on his lips.

Daryl kissed her back and then his brow furrowed. "At least she hates the idea of kissing boys. Seems I have a few years of night sleep left."

Carol laughed again and they immersed in a comfortable silence for a while before he noticed she was spaced out, her mind obviously drifting in grim thoughts.

"What?" he asked, inspecting her warily.

Her haze was shattered at once. "Nothing," she replied too quickly, plastering a fake smile in her face only to receive a derisive, knowing look. "Nothing, really. I'm just being stupid here."

Snorting, he tugged her closer and Carol complied effortlessly, wrapping her arms around his neck, the open notebook still dangling from her fingers. "It still goes," he rasped, lips brushing against hers. "You don't get to doubt about this shit."

"It does? What you told me and she missed?" Her eyes were wide, eyelashes fluttering and Daryl couldn't help but smirk crookedly at how insecure she looked. He had to admit he liked that after all these years, that he was not a given for her, because God knew he was still constantly afraid of losing her from another guy.

"Yep. Always. Ain't changing my mind every five minutes here," he rasped, voice thick with emotion, his previous redness replenishing his face effectively. "You're a fool to ask, Peletier. Thought you knew better than that," he went on and his stomach jolted when a happy smile blossomed across her delicate features. "Unless you're the one who has second thoughts."

Carol punched him in the chest and wrinkled her nose. "Stop. Of course I love you," she protested, eyeing him shyly.

"What else is it then?" For a moment his mind wandered to past memories, the way she always seemed to figure him out from the beginning, as if it was only natural for her to see right through his soul. It had taken Daryl a while to be able to do the same, but was now proud that he read her reactions like an open book. "Spit it out."

"And you think I'm still beautiful?" She bit her lip.

He huffed, the crooked smile only getting wider. "More."

"_Overall, I like my parents a lot. They are not conventional (whoaahh, I never thought I could use this word. When Beth wrote it in the blackboard I sulked and thought it sucked.) Anyway, my parents are who they are. They are nothing like Glenn and Maggie, or Rick and Michonne, or Carl and Beth, or any other married couple around. They are different. In a good way. I can't describe them and I can't understand them and that's why I always spy on them and ask questions. But I do like them. My dad always keeps an eagle eye on my mom and she complains that she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself, because she's a big girl (this is irony, they explained to me, but I don't get it) and doesn't need supervision 24-7, but I don't care. I still like that my dad does so."_

"Well, fuck!" Daryl barked. "It's fuckin' humiliating that my kid sees me like that."

Carol was doubled over, laughing hysterically, rocking back and forth at their daughter's description.

"Eagle eye?" he glared down on her.

"It's kind of an accurate description," she struggled to utter, still panting.

"If I don't keep an eye on you, you're gonna get yourself killed first chance you get," Daryl groaned, kicking the armchair close to him. "It's not like you haven't tried it in the past."

Carol shook her head, instantly regaining her seriousness. "Nine lives, remember?"

"Nope," he bristled. "Don't nine lives me. You run out of them almost seven years ago."

She choked the remaining giggles, trying to shush him with her hand. "Stop shouting. You'll wake her up."

"I've been counting, you know," his muffled growls barely comprehensible between her fingers.

"I know you have, Daryl. I know you have."

"_And my mom always touches him even when we are with other people and he shrivels and growls that she makes him look like a pussy (I don't know what that means, but I'm not allowed to say it, so I suppose it's another bad word.) She never stops, though, and sometimes, when she shunts an unruly wisp of hair away from his eyes, my dad even smiles and blushes and she calls him cute and he says "Dixons ain't cute" but smirks, nonetheless (wow, another difficult word. Totally expecting an A for this one). I like that she does that, too, otherwise his hair would be like a curtain. And when I asked her if she's sad that daddy never calls her sweetheart or baby like uncle Glenn calls aunt Maggie, she told me that dad just has to call her name and it's the greatest music of the world. And she looked so happy I wondered what's so special with my daddy's voice. It's usually just gruff or grumpy. I swear, my parents make no sense."_

"Is that right?" It was his turn to chuckle uncontrollably, tears welling up in his eyes as he fought to catch his breath. "Music? Really Carol?"

Carol kept her torso upright, solemnly. "Ok, I see how this is embarrassing now…" she stated through gritted teeth, mouth pouted.

"Carol?" he rasped.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, holy crap."

"Carol?" Daryl kept taunting her, taking full advantage of one of his rare opportunities to outweigh her relentless pestering.

"Yes, Daryl." She folded her arms against her chest. "How can I help you?"

"Nothing, Carol. Just figured you might want to hear some music. Carol."

"_Note: I forgot to write that my name is Hope. When I asked my parents why, they told me that it was hope that brought them together in the first place; well, my mom did, my dad just walked out of the living room, I don't know why. But when he came back that night he gave us both a Cherokee rose. Mom was beaming at him and she looked gorgeous and dad kissed her again. It was not the right kiss again, but thankfully it wasn't like that in the kitchen either. Otherwise I would have puked on the flower. It was something in the middle. I really believe I will never kiss a boy like that."_

Daryl sighed. "And I really hope so. For the boy's sake."

"I dread the moment you will be chasing one of the boys around here with the crossbow loaded," Carol glanced up at him.

"She's gonna be the death of me," he rumbled, shaking his head. "As if I didn't have my hands full with you."

"You know," she scooted over him, twisting her body to face him full front, the tone of her voice morphed into the seducing lure of a Siren as she cupped his face and littered him with playful pecks. "I can barely remember the last time you soothed Hope's mom from a nightmare."

Daryl raised an eyebrow, catching up with her teasing innuendos, immediately reciprocating her kisses hungrily. "Is that so?" Voice husky, shaky, she had his unremitting attention now.

"Uh-huh." Carol swooned hard as he devoured her mouth, enticing her against his chest until she straddled him. "And I have a hunch I'm gonna have a nightmare tonight. A really bad one."

Instantly aroused, entranced by her soft lips gliding over his in sync, he slid both his hand under her shirt and traced her spine, savoring the sensation of her flapping hopelessly in his steel embrace. "I should definitely do something for that."

"Definitely," she breathed between his lips, eyes rolling.

Grabbing her head with one hand, the other still groping her bare skin before he crashed her against him, he unglued her lips, forcing her to concentrate once again. "Want some soothing in advance then?"

Gazes full of desire, love and yearning locked together as their owners desperately gasped for air in each other's mouth. Carol nodded imperceptibly. "Plus I happen to really love those disgusting, open-mouthed kisses with tongues and everything you tend to give me when she's not ar-" She groaned loudly when Daryl lunged at her, claiming dominance for himself and prevailing easily.

The bulge between his thighs swelled in sore need of uniting with her, threatening to gush out, throbbing like a wild animal confined in a cage of pants. "How about some music too?" His tongue was exploring her neck now, licking and nibbling her inflamed flesh alternatively, not allowing as much as a moment of composure as she whimpered and stretched, granting him unobstructed access, entirely at a loss for words and surrendered unconditionally in his greedy assault.

"Carol…" Her smell, her taste, her sounds, everything about her was there with the sole purpose to drive him crazy. "Carol…" The way she squirmed in his arms threw him over the edge. "Carol…"

"And you call _me_ sneaky," she moaned.

An unyielding grip yanked her nape downwards and his lustful mouth covered her slackened one instantly. "Shut up, Carol."

* * *

_**So, what do you think? Too cute? Too fluffy? I know Daryl may seem ooc in this one, but here's my excuse: It's been many years that they are together at this point. They have a eight-year-old daughter, which means they are a couple for at least 8-9 years now. It's enough for him to open up and be comfortable around Carol, overcome some of his insecurities and definitely have a boosted confidence about sex to take the upper hand. And yes, it's rather too much for an eight-year-old to write like this, but it's THEIR daughter, right? Nothing short of a genius!**_

_**Let me know what you think :) If that was any good, I might try time traveling again and explore their journey to get there. I know I've been bombing you with questions lately, but I'm at this awkward point that disappointing you due to lack of original ideas has become one of my greatest fears. Therefore, I'm kind of mapping out where I can be heading from now and on to avoid repetition and boring you all to sleep.**_

_**Thank you for reading :) You know how much I would appreciate a review :)**_


	32. Lyrics Of My Life

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**Thank you all for embracing little Hope in the last chapter :) I sure as hell love her! Hopefully, I will come up with some ideas in the future to bring her in our computers again :)**_

_**Once upon a time, SOA loving mom asked me to write a story where Daryl sees Carol dressed up in a celebration and they share a dance. Then I couldn't think of a song for them and asked for your help… And here's the mess I came up with! So… Songs time! I have no idea what I tried to do with this chapter, just experimented a bit, trying to tell a story with music embracing it on the background. When I tried this in the past, it was just one song and my life was easier, now I had three and a whole new level of challenge! Damn!**_

_**In this chapter:**__** "This Year's love" by David Gray**__** (**__**HGRHfan35**__**), "When We Dance" by Sting (**__**ImOrca**__**), "Can't Take My Eyes Off You" by Rascal Flats (**__**SOA loving mom**__**). The last one is also a wonderful Caryl video on youtube under the username Reedus Renegades by the wonderful SOA living mom, in case you want to check it out. I know I did and my replay button is still suffering :)**_

_**Peta2 is always brave enough to beta my stories and I'm beyond grateful!**_

_**The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

_This year's love had better last  
Heaven knows it's high time  
And I've been waiting on my own too long_

She didn't know why fresh tears brimmed in her eyes. Not being able to fight them back only made her all the more furious and it didn't really provide any comfort for her mangled heart. Salty droplets sprung down her cheeks unobstructed and new ones welled up immediately in their place in response to her agitation. She had to calm down. That much she knew. Only she couldn't, not until that huge lump blistering in her throat obliterated.

_But when you hold me like you do  
It feels so right  
I start to forget_

And that song… God, she hated that song. She loved it, actually. But hated it simultaneously, nevertheless. It echoed everything tucked inside her chest, piling up ominously, snarling to devour her. Every thought, every fear, every need, every look, every twist in her stomach, every heartbeat skipped, gone straight to hell, under his punctuating gaze. Every hope, realistic or not. Helping Maggie clutter each hallway and passage with cd players and music chalked up as a another mistake in her ever-growing pile; no matter how forcefully she plugged her ears, despondent to focus on the screaming, jumbled voices of her mind, the damn lyrics wormed their way into her.

_How my heart gets torn  
When that hurt gets thrown  
Feeling like you can't go on  
_

Nothing more than a bundle of nerves and sobs, she crumbled on the cement floor of the laundry room, tugging her knees under her chin nonchalant to the creasing dress or the tears staining it. She felt like an outcast hiding like that during the wedding party and snorted bitterly at the thought that that's exactly what she had been her entire life. It wasn't like she could dissolve in tears in Maggie's embrace tonight, anyway. Why did he care? If he didn't care _that_ way about her, why did he care who liked her or not, who she liked or not?

_Turning circles when time again  
It cuts like a knife oh yeah  
If you love me got to know for sure  
Cos it takes something more this time  
Than sweet sweet lies_

Damn, she had almost passed out in his arms out there, among laughter and alcohol and celebration and people actually having fun as if she was a love-stricken teenager with a huge crush for the school's charmer, as if Maggie and Glenn had nothing better to do in their special day than to worry sick about her, as if Hershel would rather tend her pounding blood pressure instead of swelling with bliss at the sight of his stunning daughter. It was clear for a while now that her breaking point was close enough and that slippery slope would steer inexorably to an emotional meltdown. This was rock bottom, locked in the laundry room to weep her despair during a wedding.

_Before I open up my arms and fall  
Losing all control  
Every dream inside my soul  
And when you kiss me  
On that midnight street  
Sweep me off my feet  
Singing ain't this life so sweet_

She loved him. Insanely. Unconditionally. Irreversibly. Desperately. And she finally had enough of this shit, of _his_ shit. She had to know, once and for all. Irrevocably and definitively. It was due time he made up his mind and he let her have a glimpse at his thoughts. Now. Not tomorrow. More times than she could count she had resolved to set out to coax him into revealing his piece of mind on the morrow and got cold feet under the whipping sunlight. Now. Not tomorrow. Now. The longer she postponed it the closer she came to embracing insanity. Tonight she would get a final answer. Whatever that meant.

_So who's to worry  
If our hearts get torn  
When that hurt gets thrown  
Don't you know this life goes on  
And won't you kiss me  
On that midnight street  
Sweep me off my feet  
Singing ain't this life so sweet_

Carol peeled herself off the floor, startled at the amount of courage it took her to achieve this trivial task and yanked the door open, heels still hanging limply from her dainty fingers. Inhaling one last agonizing breath she burst into a frenzied run, opting for a long detour through the woven corridors of the tombs instead of simply traversing the prison yard, averse to crossing paths with anyone else. She sprinted like she had never sprinted in her life, through the maze that represented the awful nightmare of being lost and helpless, like the devil was on her tail, like she had to eschew gory jaws drooling to devour her, like her survival depended on whether she contrived to reach his cell soon enough. So, she kept forcing one foot in front of the other, shoveling distance between her and the fading lyrics that haunted her like otherworldly ghosts.

_This year's love had better last  
This year's love had better last  
This year's love had better last  
This year's love had better last_

* * *

_Two hours earlier_

Rick had plastered a smirk on his face for so many hours now that his facial muscles cramped and twitched of their own free will. Maggie and Glenn were swinging gracefully on the dance floor before them, beaming at each other, glowing happiness and dreams for a long, joyous life in a world gone to hell and they swelled with hope and relief, hope for the future, relief for the present.

"Beautiful, ain't she?" He squinted at Daryl who stared intensely at a spot right across them, behind the newlyweds and settled with an absent nod to him.

_If he loved you  
Like I love you  
I would walk away in shame  
I'd move town  
I'd change my name_

Locating Carol over there, Daryl stood spellbound, marveling at the sight of her in the dress Maggie had stubbornly insisted was the only one formal and striking enough for the ceremony. It worked miracles highlighting her regal frame and he was suddenly glad Maggie prevailed in that debate despite his initial scorn at the waterfall of unbeknownst terminologies littering the prison for weeks before the grand event. _Tank dress, pre-washed for velvet-soft feel, plain-weave, silk-chiffon fabric , skin-flashing split back…_ He only understood _red, over/above the knee and low-cut cleavage_ and the last one had required some contemplation from his part. He was suspicious of too many fancy words crammed together in just one description of a cloth and couldn't quite put his finger on whether he was just a complete social retard or Maggie was cunning and sneaky when it came down to dressing the women up or playing matchmaker. So, he just expected the worse. But his eyelids flapped restlessly when the airy garment fluttered, blown by an abrupt chilly breeze as it draped around the curves of her body sensationally, flaring behind her like a sparkling halo.

_When he watches you  
When he counts to buy your soul  
On your hand his golden rings  
Like he owns a bird that sings_

"She's beautiful, too," Rick offered, following his gaze to the woman standing alone in the twilight. He had caught his best friend casting surreptitious peeks at her during the vows, staring at her explicitly as time passed and he relaxed, appeased that people wouldn't pay attention to him tonight and progressively he was downright gawking at her, slack jawed. Carol would crack him a smile occasionally and Daryl would instantly frown and look away from her.

"Who?" he muttered.

_When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings_

Rick coughed to stifle a chuckle. Amazing how soap opera drama still thrived during the walker apocalypse; it was a vicious circle they were snared into. Tyreese looked at Carol, Carol at Daryl, Karen at Daryl, Daryl at Carol. What could have effortlessly unraveled as a love story had effectively turned into a Gordian knot. "Carol."

Daryl glared down on him and shrugged, fidgeting. "How the fuck would I know?" he growled, gagging with his own saliva.

_The priest has said my soul's salvation  
Is in the balance of the angels  
And underneath the wheels of passion  
I keep the faith in my fashion  
When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings_

Breaking news was that his reluctance to admit his feelings to Rick didn't match his inner screw-up. When Tyreese accessed Carol, offering her a tissue to wipe stray tears of overwhelming emotion at the sight of the couple dancing around, his jaw clenched painfully, stomach bolted and a wicked whisper echoed in his head, introducing him to the lady mincing his heart, jealousy. It was unintelligible to Daryl the level of comfort these two had achieved in less than the three months of their acquaintance. And he was jealous, even if she had reiterated time and time again that they were just friends, he was crazy jealous, especially because this is exactly how she'd describe him as well. And he wanted to be more, whether an out loud avowal would kill him or not. The moment Tyreese cupped her nape and she leaned in to whisper something to him before they broke apart, Daryl saw red. Red that was dismissed instantly when she slowly strolled her way towards him, the other man heading to the opposite direction. Too consumed devouring her with his eyes, he didn't even register Rick retreating to give them some privacy.

_I'm still in love with you  
[I'm gonna find a place to live  
Give you all I've got to give]  
When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings  
When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings  
_

"Women are stripping you with their eyes tonight."

Daryl snorted, it's not like he had noticed anything. "What's there not to like?" He smiled crookedly, forgetting his grumpiness.

"Quite the opposite, actually." Carol lightly brushed his arm, goosebumps rattling down his spine. "You don't even look intimidating tonight. Just… handsome," she tried to tease, but her voice was too hoarse to go unnoticed.

"Well, fuck!" he chortled. "If I get molested I'll kick your ass for picking this shirt."

This time she giggled. "Chances are you'll get molested by me. I've made my peace with getting my ass kicked." Despite the cheerfulness, her eyes were narrowed, inspecting him cautiously.

_If I could break down these walls  
And shout my name at heaven's gate  
I'd take these hands  
And I'd destroy the dark machineries of fate  
_

He was ready for that. This time, he really was. Having played possible scenarios over and over in his mind, a bunch of parroted answers worthy of her battering taunting leapt at the tip of his tongue, but bottled up right there when she winced in pain. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she muttered, too hastily.

He raised an eyebrow, arms folding against his chest.

Carol avoided his gaze, blushing. "It'd destroy my sexiness to admit it."

Daryl huffed, gaze piercing.

"What?" She tossed her hands in the air. "I'm still a woman, you know."

"You reckon I think you're a squirrel?" he rasped, all too vigilant that she was a woman. Humiliatingly so, as his pants began to tighten around his bulge to the point he worried that his awareness of her femininity might be obvious to everyone in a considerable radius.

_Cathedrals are broken  
Heaven's no longer above  
And hellfire's a promise away  
I'd still be saying  
I'm still in love  
_

"These pumps are killing me," she sighed, wrinkling her nose. "Happy now?"

From all the imminent plights that crossed his mind in a flash, uncomfortable heels were not amongst them. "Take them off, then."

"No," she rumbled adamantly, eyes still darting anywhere but on him. "Heels work miracles for a woman's figure."

The unpretentious charm of her natural shyness almost did him in. "Just take the fuckers off," he rasped. "You don't need them, anyway."

_He won't love you  
Like I love you  
He won't care for you this way  
He'll mistreat you if you stay_

Her head snapped up. "Is that a compliment?"

Yes. And no. It was the truth. Only he had no idea how to articulate that. "You're too tall for me with those things," he mumbled, blushing fiercely, hoping Carol would read between the lines.

She didn't, though, too preoccupied with her roaring heart. "But I'm not too tall for every potential partner around," she countered.

Daryl said nothing; the instant scowl across his face spoke volumes.

_Come and live with me  
We'll have children of our own  
I would love you more than life  
If you'll come and be my wife_

"Would you mind? If I cared whether I'm tall enough for someone else?" She eyed him expectantly, striving to ration out the riddle of his iffy demeanor.

He shrugged. "Why the hell do you care about shit like that?"

"I don't. At all," she stated plainly and he cringed at the sound of what he considered to be a blatant lie. "But would you mind? If I did?" The gnashing sound of his gritted teeth reached her and Carol reached out a hand, tilting his chin up, forcing him to face her. "Daryl-"

"Just take the damn things off." He failed miserably to sound impervious or even angry, his voice just twisting into a groan.

"No," she insisted, lips pouting.

_When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings  
When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings  
_

Daryl glowered at her, the wheels in his mind working overtime to focus on the task at hand and dodge the cornering topic of his raving jealousy. "You do that alone or I'm getting the job done myself."

Carol resigned and clasped his stretched hand to steady herself while unfastening the shiny straps around her ankles, finally barefoot on the cool ground, swinging the pumps under his nose.

_When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings  
When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings_

"Better now?"

"Yeah. You're too bossy, you know that?" she sulked.

His peripheral view caught the man he despised unduly and without excuse more than anything else in the world approaching them with a bottle of wine and a heap of glasses vacillating precariously. "Maybe," he sneered in her face, nostrils flaring. "But at least I ain't a liar."

_I'm gonna love you more than life  
If you will only be my wife  
I'm gonna love you more than life_

Carol flinched. "What?"

"Everyone knows there's something between you two," he hissed, fighting back the rage slithering inside him.

"What?" She whipped her head around until her gaze met the subject of his wrath. "No…" she stuttered, shaking her head. "He just volunteered to bring us something to drink."

_If you will only be my wife  
I'm gonna love you night and day  
I'm gonna try in every way_

She reached out to grab his arm, but he recoiled.

Rick was beside him immediately then, handing Daryl a bottle of whiskey, snatching him from the shoulder. "Easy now," he ordered sternly. "Not the place to cause a scene."

Carol exhaled a huge puff of air she withheld for a while now, still eyeing him sheepishly. "Daryl-"

"See? You're not the only one to get free drinks from guys," he growled and bolted before their interaction became audible to Tyreese.

Carol gaped and Rick found it impossible to decide if the equilibrium tipped towards comedy or tragedy before hurrying himself on his tail.

_(I had a dream last night  
I dreamt you were by my side  
Walking with me baby  
My heart was filled with pride  
I had a dream last night)_

* * *

_A bit later  
_

The song had just finished and Carol was stepping backwards during the interval between the next one, thanking her partner and gently refusing his offer for another dance, heels dangling from her finger, when she stomped into a rock solid surface. She gasped and whirled around to meet the set of grayish, bloodshot eyes she was heading to search for before she tripped over and reeled, only for a steel vise to clamp around her waist and hinder her inevitable fall.

Registering the first notes of the new song through a haze, Carol vaguely wondered how she was supposed to react to this awkward situation, with his unyielding grip still crashing her to his chest and that unfathomable twinkle flickering in his eyes. He was drunk; not wasted, but the reek of alcohol oozed off from every pore of his toned body, further clouding her fuzzy senses. She had her fair share of wine as well and was lightheaded, precariously tipsy and not even close to trusting her dented defenses.

_I know that the bridges that I've burned  
Along the way  
Have left me with these walls and these scars_

His arm was still around her, though, groping her ribcage and it felt weird that they hadn't exchanged a single word the few seconds they were lingering together. He was a mystery, always had been and right now more than ever. Carol stood there aghast, her hand fisting hesitantly the linen fabric over his sternum as she strived to control her heaving and decipher his intentions.

_That won't go away  
And opening up has always been the hardest thing  
Until you came_

Had he been any other man, she would swear he wanted to dance with her. Had it been any other night, any other sober night, she would have never mustered the boldness to snake her other arm around his neck and sway imperceptibly, enticing him along in the slow rhythm. But he was there, godlike and enigmatic, and she was giddy, deriving enough valor from the wine flooding in her veins to offer a smirk.

_So lay here beside me just hold me and don't let go  
This feelin' I'm feelin' is somethin' I've never known  
_

"I was about to come looking for you," she croaked and her face wriggled instantly, unable to identify the husky, ragged voice that soared between them as her own.

_And I just can't take my eyes off you  
And I just can't take my eyes off you  
_

Daryl said nothing in response. Not a single sinew in his face twitched as his blazing gaze, transfixed on her the entire time, kept digging holes on her face and Carol bit her lip. The world around her spun swiftly and she absently cussed the booze for the dullness claiming her clarity. Deep down she doubted it was the booze, though, she hadn't consumed enough to justify her swooning like a lovesick teenager in his embrace. It was him; his proximity, his presence, his masculinity, his eyes raking over her crudely, almost shamelessly to the point that she felt naked, exposed and she didn't care.

_I love when you tell me that I'm pretty  
When I just wake up_

Shuffling closer, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, snuggling against him to shove the dizziness away, ripe to get hell any moment now for her advances. The scolding never came, though. Just a stiffening beneath her cheek and muscles bolting frantically. Mesmerized by the seducing scent of his skin she inhaled sharply and exhaled shakily into his neck only to feel him shudder, an erratic heartbeat throbbing under her palm.

_And I love how you tease me when I'm moody  
But it's never too much_

She thought she might have trespassed his boundaries and drew back a bit but was pinned on the spot, his other arm, hanging aimlessly by the side till that moment, finally found the way to wrap around her back until he pawed the curve of her shoulder, clinging to her the same way she was tugging on him. If she could drift her gaze over him, she would have caught him mimicking the identical whiff of her physical scent like a hound, but she couldn't and was too clammed up and flustered by his presence to keep track of his actions anyway.

_I'm falling fast but the truth is I'm not scared at all  
You climbed my walls  
_

He broke the tight embrace forcing a few inches between them and they locked gazes again. Her chest, formerly collided with him, felt frigid away from his radiating heat and the sudden coldness shocked her back to reality. Glancing up around for the first time since it seemed like eternity, she was startled by the dawning realization that they weren't alone, sequestered in a heavenly cloud, but swinging at the outskirts of a makeshift dance floor swamped with people, the sonorous commotion of the crowd surrounding them crept in her mind momentarily until her eyes skittered on his lips and the rest of the world ebbed away again.

_So lay here beside me just hold me and don't let go  
This feelin' I'm feelin' is somethin' I've never known_

"Carol-" he breathed.

_And I just can't take my eyes off you  
And I just can't take my eyes off you  
_

She was panting. "Daryl-"

Off you  
Off you

When a wet tongue slid through his parched lips, scattering a trail of glistening sultriness in its wake, eyes flicking between her parted ones and her eyes, she found herself at a loss for words, life zeroing in on his inflamed gaze. She licked hers on impulse and moaned to resist lunging at him, dipped nails menacingly clutching the garment of his shirt, threatening to tear it into shreds. The cerulean blue of his eyes was gulping her greedily, the twinkle waltzing frantically inside them sucked the air away as he stooped over her.

_So lay here beside me just hold me and don't let go  
And oh.. this feelin' I'm feelin' is somethin' I've never known  
And I just can't take my eyes off you  
And I just can't take my eyes off you_

The music faded again, but none of them fazed as they continued dancing with a melody audible only to them, floating above the ground, spaced out. She could feel her flesh scorching under his inquisitive gaze, not stopping at her but punctuating right through her and she was powerless, surrendered, too feeble and spent to compete with him. When his calloused fingertips grazed her jaw line, she closed her eyes and leaned forward, melting in his arms, anticipating with bated breath and a hammering pulse reverberating in her head.

"You might wanna put those heels back on." A hiss and the moment was gone, her daze shattered into millions of fragments.

When her eyes fluttered open again he was peering over her shoulder, look hard and brow furrowed. She squinted at him all ruffled by the coldness of his tone as he unlocked his arms and squared his shoulders, straining to regain her equanimity and block his impending retreat. Cool fingers curled around his wrist, but he didn't peek back at her. His walls were up again, expression dark, rigid and distant and Carol's heart clenched painfully.

A tap on her shoulder distracted her and she turned around to see Tyreese grinning at both of them. "May I have the lady for the next dance?"

Her grip around his wrist tightened instinctively and she opened her mouth to refuse, eyes skimming back to him, pleading, but Daryl jerked his hand away.

"Sure," he grumbled, taking a couple of steps back without as much as a glance for her.

She settled in Tyreese's embrace speechlessly and watched his broad back evanesce through the jam of dancing figures. The last glimpse she got was him disappearing behind the entrance of the prison, his omnipresent proud stance chucked away, replaced by hunched shoulders and bowed head, an aura of defeat swirling around him.

* * *

_**Honestly? I have no idea what I'm doing here. There, I admitted it. Trying to combine prompts and song requests has turned out trickier than I thought! The sequel I attempted ended into deleting pages over and over again, LOL! I'm lost here and it's not even funny :( If you have any suggestions/ideas, just let me know, please.**_

_**Those of you who haven't seen your songs here… They are coming, trust me!**_

_**HGRHfan35**__**, **__**ImOrca**__** , **__**SOA loving mom**__**: Thank you for trusting me to do this.**__**I hope I did justice to your songs and you like the way I used them. "This Year's Love" was my catalyst to motivate Carol to run to Daryl and ask how he really feels about her. "When We Dance" was a tricky choice, I tried to add a pinch of irony to that and have Daryl facing two rivals, Tyreese and the heels (lol) while Maggie and Glenn are stealing the song from him and Carol. "Can't Take My Eyes Off You" pulled at my heart strings and I hope the scene between them was intense and hot.**_

_**Jeez, I'm babbling out of control again.**_

_**Thank you all for reading :) Please, please, please review! Feedback is priceless!**_


	33. Let The Music Do The Talking

_**Hey everyone,**_

_**Songs are making my life difficult… and melodic!**_

_**In this chapter:**__** "Use Somebody" by Kings of Leon**__** (**__**songbird1313**__**), "You and Me" by Neil Young (**__**alibabwa**__**), "I'll Follow You Down" by Shinedown (**__**Tara**__**). The first one, such a character motivating song, I loved the idea of it! The second one, exactly as alibabwa said it, not hugely romantic, but I thought it fits perfectly to the half-awkward, half-comfortable nature of their relationship. The last one, it was powerful, perfect for a gut-wrenching moment of downfall. I put so much thought to this chapter and songs and I re-wrote every part more times that I can count *sigh* Hopefully, I did your choices justice!**_

_**Massive applaud to Peta2 who accepted to beta this chapter despite her better judgment. :) **_

_**Thank you all for your great words and your kindness :) I'm a lucky girl!**_

_**The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

_I've been roaming around  
Always looking down at all I see  
Painted faces, fill the places I can't reach  
_

Loneliness used to have a firm grip on him, comfortably so. Fuck. Used to. Once upon a time he had learned to be alone even in the middle of a crowd and he had become acquainted with it to the point that he couldn't stand people around him for too long. Why tonight, of all long days and endless nights, was this hole nested in his chest widening and widening until his breath was caught and he had to flee to his cell to avoid reeling in front of everybody was an unfathomable riddle to Daryl. He was fuckin' jealous and hurt like a pussy just because a woman he had never made a move on was ostensibly involved with someone else.

_You know that I could use somebody  
You know that I could use somebody  
_

The occasion was happy, the happiest one at least for ordinary people who would normally stay away from a Dixon like the plague, but in these times were two of his best friends. Hell, in these times a Dixon had friends. And he wasn't even satisfied. He wanted more. He wanted her. Fuck. His gut clenched at the thought of another man stroking her pale skin and he rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes to shove the mental image away. This was torture. Even worse than his sleepless, sweaty nights when he was too weak to evict her from his raving mind.

_Someone like you, And all you know, And how you speak  
Countless lovers under cover of the street_

He wanted her. Maybe he even… But he had no parallel he could relate to make the comparison, no similar past experience … Love her? He needed her. It was an urge, an aching need to be around her, to have her for himself. Was this love? And, if by some wonder the answer was positive and a Dixon had fallen in love, why would this be considered as some kind of accomplishment? Daryl was sick. He had been a mess of nerves and twisting stomach and clenched chest and anorexia and insomnia and feeling the need to punch the wall or simply cry and… just shit. There was nothing transcendental, nothing sublime in what he had been going through. It was pure torture and he couldn't put his finger on why people were so desperately after the pursuit of love. That wasn't happiness; it was misery by definition. He wanted to rip his flesh open and squish his heart to dust. But he only wanted her more and more.

_You know that I could use somebody  
You know that I could use somebody  
Someone like you _

Rick hadn't helped at all. When he followed him and gave him that inspirational speech over two bottles of whiskey, Daryl plainly wished he'd died from embarrassment. But Rick kept encouraging him gently in the beginning to face his feelings and put an end to this mess and when Daryl growled at him, he furrowed his brow and declared hands down that it was past due time he quit blatantly ignore the crystal clear signs Carol sent him before it was too late. That's why he had opted for the mature choice, to get drunk and go find her. And then he had lost his shit and found no words to utter. But they had danced and he wanted to weep from joy sniffing the scent of her skin. And they had almost kissed. Was it all in his mind?

_Off in the night, while you live it up, I'm off to sleep_  
_Waging wars to shape the poet and the beat_  
_I hope it's gonna make you notice_  
_I hope it's gonna make you notice_

He high-tailed when Tyreese approached, didn't know what else to do. The man was a moving charm of eloquence and noble manners and he was a caveman, a true Neanderthal compared to him. He couldn't win this contest. If he was Carol, he would have chosen Tyreese. So, he had fled, drank more and hid in the safety of his cell, wasted and pissed. At whom? Who knew… He wasn't even sure if she knew how he felt about her. Then again, how could she? He needed her but had pushed her away more times than he could count.

_Someone like me  
Someone like me  
Someone like me, somebody_

He had his reasons, though. Even if he couldn't utter them to anyone. It was Carol they were talking about. Carol. What was he supposed to do with her? He knew nothing about women. Nothing about how to please a woman, to make her want more of him, to come back. He had nothing to give and he didn't deserve love. He wanted her, though, no matter what. It was agony, physical and mental suffering the way he yearned for her. Still, he was absolutely convinced there was nothing but disappointment lurking for her around the corner, once she realized the true depths of his ignorance.

_Go and let it out  
Go and let it out  
Go and let it out _

But then again, it really was Carol they were talking about. She had never laughed at him, not even about the Chupacabra thing… He couldn't afford disappointing Carol. She was looking at him like he meant something and this blind faith had gradually become his reference point. He couldn't afford to lose that, he had lost too much already. The only true value he ever felt washing over him was the way his reflection mirrored in her eyes. The moment he managed to have that twinkle snuffed out, there would be nothing left for him. He was afraid, scared like a little boy. No way could he make the first move. Follow her lead was the most he could achieve, maybe, if he gritted his teeth hard enough. His stomach jolted. Why had he left her like that out there? A guy wanted to dance with her, so what? Since when did a Dixon pick flight over fight? And now he couldn't go back outside, among happy and partying people. He had humiliated himself twice already in less than a couple of hours. Everyone would be laughing at his expense, at the clueless redneck. Even her.

_Go and let it out  
Go and let it out  
Go and let it out  
Go and let it out  
_

A hesitant gait echoed on the metal staircase, soft steps approaching his cell. His heart skipped a beat and then hammered violently against his chest. He whirled around, straining to ignore the spinning walls, eyes blurry and stinging, breath caught up in a knot. Maybe… Maybe if she had come to him again after everything. Maybe it didn't matter how broken and damaged he was. Maybe he could risk it. Wasn't he losing her anyway?

_Someone like you, somebody  
Someone like you, somebody  
Someone like you, somebody _

Swallowing hard, he propped against the wall, transfixed on the entrance. _Carol_.

The face that emerged wasn't the one plowing his sluggish mind and he sagged. "What are you doing here?" he asked blankly, too beat up and spent to be pissed at anyone other than himself.

_I've been roaming around,  
Always looking down at all I see_

* * *

_Afternoon before the wedding_

After the sullen grunt that ensued the light clinking of knuckles against the metal bars of his cell, a grey head popped inside, grinning at him. "May I come in?"

Daryl nodded, fighting hard the smirk that cracked in the corner of his lips. Carol, good. He had been hiding in there for a while now, too agitated and skittish from the level of commotion in even the remotest corner of the prison.

"Too much fuss out there?" Carol stepped in, a pile of neatly folded shirts in her arms.

He sulked instantly, chanting to himself that he was grumpy and peevish and… and… and stuff like that. "People are out of their minds with this bullshit. And what's with this music since we got up?"

"You mean to tell me you're not happy at all for Maggie and Glenn?" Her voice was soft as she disposed the clothes on his table, eyebrow quirked mischievously and, when she turned around only to catch him gnawing at his thumbnail, he was eyeing her sheepishly. Carol smiled. "I thought so."

_Open up your eyes  
See how life time flies  
Open up and let the light back in._

He motioned towards the clothes, avoiding her gaze. "What's all these?"

"These, my friend, are the enemy. Shirts. With sleeves. Let's pull some looks to find what suits you better."

His face creased into a sneer. "Sleeves only, huh?"

"I'm afraid that as your personal stylist I can't let you go without. Did I mention Maggie is a bundle of nerves?"

"Just pick one," he frowned.

Carol beamed at him, handing him a white linen fabric. It was on the top, because she knew what would suit him better before he even tried any of them.

_Open up your heart  
Let the lovin' start  
Open up and let the light back in._

"Keep a few spare for Glenn. Boy's been sweating like a pig," Daryl said gruffly.

"You're cute, Daryl. Can't help yourself." There was sweetness there. Sweetness that made his knees buckle.

"Shut up, smartass," he grumbled, "Just don't wanna have him stinking from a mile away next to me."

"'Cause you're such a shower lover yourself," Carol giggled.

Daryl huffed, swiveling his forefinger, the sleeveless, worn out khaki shirt half open, unveiling a cranny of scarred flesh. "Turn."

_I was thinking of you and me  
Makin' love beneath the tree  
And now I wonder could it be._

_Thinkin' 'bout the times we had  
Some were good and some were bad  
Guitar fightin' the T.V.__  
_

"Don't get too worked up, Daryl," Carol sighed, spinning until her back was to him. "I'm not here to take advantage of you. I have to go dress Rick and Tyreese too."

His face dropped and he was grateful she missed that as he took off one shirt only to replace it with the ivory linen she handed him, fiddling clumsily with the buttons. "Thought you were my personal stylist," he muttered.

She laughed it off casually, not much she could do anyway. "You never let me look. Maybe I get luckier with the others."

"I reckon you're peeping just fine," he blundered unsure of whether it bothered him or ignited a warming furnace in his stomach.

She peered over her shoulder and grinned mischievously. "I do."

_I was thinkin' 'bout you and me  
I was thinkin' 'bout you and me  
_

Daryl busied himself, fiddling clumsily with the loops of the shirt. "You two spend a lot of time together," he rumbled. What he managed to do, apart from revealing his jealousy, was to fasten it unevenly and gawk at the unbalanced hems like a fool. He scratched his head and grimaced at her, silently asking for help.

"Me and Rick?" Carol closed the distance between them once again, staring at him intensely. "Or me and Tyreese?"

_I was thinkin' of you and me  
I was thinkin' 'bout you and me._

His scowl spoke volumes about what he meant and she wished she had it inside her to play him seriously, beyond jokes, with feminine whim until she pushed him to the edge and he was forced to reveal his desires clearly. Mixed signals were on the verge of driving her insane, but she found it impossible to afflict anguish on him purposely. "We're friends. Have a lot in common," she offered the truth simply.

Reacting on impulse, he stiffened and fidgeted when she reached out casually and started unbuttoning the shirt to realign it properly and before he willed himself to stay put, his fingers had forcefully curled around her wrists.

Carol stilled, swallowing hard. "It's ok," she said softly. "Let me."

It took him several seconds to realize that his stern grip probably hurt her. "Shit," he mumbled, heaving.

She smiled faintly, not revealing the pain. "Relax."

The steel clutch relaxed instantly but his hands dawdled on hers, enticed along her flowing movements.

_Lookin' at you just the other night  
Dancin' in the evening light  
True love conquers all._

_Old man sittin' there  
Touch of grey, but he don't care  
When he hears his children call._

Taking her time to loop the buttons, she blushed fervently at the scorching sensation of his gaze darting over her. "There," she whispered, voice velvety, delicate hands rubbing soothing circles around his chest and his thumbs stroked absently her pale skin in response. "See? Cover look."

He snapped up and stared right back at her tentative gaze, powerless to suppress a grin at the sight of her sparkling eyes. "Chin up, Dixon," a tight-lipped smile blossoming in her face. "Just a shirt and a few scars. Don't be a drama queen about it."

His chortle reverberated as a reward in the confined walls of the cell until he unclasped his grip, allowing his hands to droop laxly. He was out of excuses to maintain their physical contact. "Thanks," he rasped, qualms about the alternative routes his fingertips could have trailed on her minced their way inside his mind.

_I was thinkin' 'bout you and me  
I was thinkin' 'bout you and me_

"What about you and Karen?" The way he goggled at her blankly forced her to elaborate. "She's beautiful. And kind. And always follows you around."

"Really?" Daryl huffed. And then puffed, shrugging indifferently, lack of interest explicit in his stance. "Ain't my type."

"There is a type then!" Carol cheered, eyes wide and brows quirked as she leaned forward conspiratorially. "Any chance it's mine?" She kept the banter going, but her heart was racing.

"Stop," he mumbled, lips pouted, face in flames.

_I was thinkin' 'bout you and me  
I was thinkin' 'bout you and me._

Concealing her crashed expectations, she picked the shirts from the table. "See you in the aisle, Daryl," she teased, strolling to the exit. "And don't worry, I won't be the one in the wedding dress. You still have time to stake a claim on this body."

A wink, a giggle and she vanished, leaving him slack jawed.

He felt like a fool. No. He knew he was one.

_Open up your eyes  
See how life time flies  
Open up and let the light back in._

* * *

"Just thought you might need some company." Karen lingered momentarily at the door before fully stepping inside his cell. "Hard night for loners like us." Her gait was cautious but steady, back straight, head cocked in the side.

Daryl took a step back, flush against the wall, smacking his head. "Get the fuck outta here," he grunted. "Don't need no company." Everything was spinning, though, two slender veins throbbing frantically across his temples, his frugal surroundings encompassed in a haze.

_If I could find assurance to leave you behind  
I know my better half would fade  
And all my doubt is a staircase for you_

"Don't be so quick to say no." The tone of her voice was low, sensual and seductive as she paused just a tiny step away from him. "Take your time to think about it."

He eyed her angrily through a slit. Women were not allowed in his cell; except for one. But he had to give it to her, the way she defied the imminent peril by violating his private space.

Where was Carol? He'd expected Carol. Surely she had settled for a more pleasant company than his. That would be the smart choice, anyway. He only gave her hell when he was sober, let alone now that he was beyond wasted. No reasonable person would chase after his caustic demeanor. Rage and disappointment, bone deep pain and battering self-resentment seethed in a corrosive mix.

"I don't wanna be alone tonight," Karen went on.

He just wanted her out. Carol was encroaching in every crack of his being and he needed to be alone. He definitely didn't need a woman inspecting him like dinner.

"And neither do you, Daryl." She stretched out her hand, offering another bottle.

Nostrils flared at the sound of his name and his mind threw a shit storm of temper at her. But his lips remained shut, seamed tightly, twitching, desperately dictating his reaching hand to jerk back to his side.

_Opened out of this space  
The first step is the one you believe in  
The second one might be profound._

The coolness of the glass under his fingers hurled a pang of invigorating clarity, temporarily purging his wriggling mind and he sucked in some air. "Beat it. Now," he growled.

Karen didn't flinch as he hoisted the bottle to his mouth, gulping greedily the intoxicating content. "I have eyes, you know. She's not here, is she?"

Daryl winced at his kindling intestines and the truthfulness of her words, sloppily wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You dunno jack ab-" he slurred, numb from head to toe, not a single muscle yielding to his commands and Karen shuffled closer, her fingertips groping the fabric of his shirt over the same spot Carol's hand had incised a flaming hole with chisels during their dance.

_I'll follow you down through the eye of the storm  
Don't worry I'll keep you warm.  
I'll follow you down while we're passing through space  
I don't care if we fall from grace  
I'll follow you down_

"But I am," Karen interrupted him. "Right here. Right now."

A shrieking brain ordered his body vehemently to yank away, but he didn't even jolt. _She_ wasn't there, probably melting in another embrace. The visualization of the man tracing _her_ delicate skin, nibbling _her_ neck, sucking _her_ lips crept into his mind and Daryl groaned. Eyes rolling, he almost slumped on the floor. It was raw this pain, it was love. He hated love.

Karen's arms were around him in a flash, her knee snaking between his legs. "You don't have to like me," she whispered. "It will mean nothing. No strings attached."

Daryl whimpered, squirming on the cement surface. He hated love. He hated Carol. He hated that she had given up on him. He hated that every speck of his existence was a bleeding wound, excruciating pain engulfing him, gnashing him inside out.

"Nobody will ever know. I won't cause you any trouble." Her breath was hot, inches away from his mouth. "All I want is to forget. For a night. Just one night."

The bottle slid from his grip and crashed next to them. Karen stiffened for a second before relaxing again, but Daryl remained stone still.

Soft lips brushed against his and he didn't stir, eyes blank, deprived of even the tiniest spark of emotion, staring over Karen, at the entrance, the last grain of hope evaporating swiftly as no one appeared in the opening.

"What's your answer?"

_You can have the money and the world  
The angels and the pearls  
Even trademark the color blue  
Just like the tower we never built_

He glanced down at her cautiously, inquisitively, blurriness still cloaking his mind. It was easy. The only thing that woman wanted from him was to fuck her. Tonight. Nothing else. Ever again. He could use easy every once in a while. Just a fuck. No major dramas ripping his heart out, no love nonsense pinching and clamping his gut. Blowing off some steam. Scratching an itch. Like Merle, the old days. This woman meant nothing to him, couldn't even recall if they had interacted more than a few times in a time span of months. No, definitely. He didn't care. The reminiscence of a self-absorbed past gushed into his mind and he instantly craved the staunch sanctuary of simply not caring. And yet he didn't feel like kissing Karen back.

_In the shadow of all the guilt  
When the other hand was pointed at you  
Yeah the first step is the one you believe in  
The second one might be profound._

Carol had ruined everything, summoning an inner tornado deep in his chest, aiming right at the core of his being, hooking his mangled heart with hers. He could get exposed. He could, with Karen. She might figure out immediately how inexperienced with women he was and he didn't give a damn for the humiliation. She wasn't Carol, she didn't matter. He could use her the same way she wanted to use him, to vent some tension and then forget her in a split second. He could do exactly what he had miserably failed to ration out with Carol. Not care. He was safe if he didn't care. Carol was a free fall, no safety, no guarantees, no parachute involved. Karen was… just there, offering herself on a silver platter. He didn't have to be a better man, a man of honor, worthy of her; he could just be worthless white trash, no problem. But he still didn't want her. She was offering him a way out and he was longing for the rocky terrain, like a pussy. He wanted more than a night with a woman. He wanted _her_.

_I'll follow you down, through the eye of the storm  
Don't worry I'll keep you warm.  
I'll follow you down, while we're passing through space  
I don't care if we fall from grace_  
_I'll follow you down to where forever lies_

Karen was beautiful, Carol had said. She was right. Karen was beautiful. Even more so as her hazelnut eyes rinsed away into a cerulean, grey-tinged shade that didn't belong to her. Daryl moaned, rubbing the heels of his palms ruthlessly over his flapping eyelids, but when he narrowed his eyes, squinting down at her in an ultimate effort to concentrate, she was still there. And she really was beautiful. Especially as her tanned skin faded in the dim light, freckled paleness conquering the palpating flesh, prevailing inch by inch. The more he was staring back at her, the more beautiful she looked and he marveled at her well-shaped nose re-sculpted to a daintier bridge and a more pointed tip. Carol was right. Karen was beautiful. She was a ravishing, regal beauty collided with him, her wet tongue licking his lips, requesting entrance. A gasp and one final blink. When his eyes fluttered just a crack, she was stunning, the most beautiful sight he had ever gazed, mind-blowing, awe-inspiring, dazzling, glowing like a goddess in the gloominess of the frigid cell as she had at last completely morphed into Carol and he smirked idly, pampering his urge to follow her down to his eternal demise.

_Without a doubt I'm on your side  
There's nowhere else that I would rather be  
I'm not about to compromise, give you up to say goodbye  
I'll guide you through the deep I'll keep you close to me  
_

Daryl lunged at her, pawing her neck brutally as he assaulted her mouth. Karen jerked at the voracity, but kissed him back trying her best to keep on track with his frenzied pace. He felt nothing, though. He was kissing her and she was kissing him and he didn't care and was glad and all, but he mostly felt vacant. Wrong. He was kissing Carol, right? How could that feel wrong? He endeavored to muster everything he had in that kiss. It was his fault that it felt all wrong. He was tossing his opportunity again and if he failed to show her how much he wanted her, she'd be gone again, this time for good.

_I'll follow you down through the eye of the storm  
Don't worry I'll keep you warm.  
I'll follow you down while we're passing through space  
I don't care if we fall from grace  
I'll follow you._

His peripheral view registered a red dress standing behind the bars, but initially failed to gain his attention as he mentally scolded himself for allowing his dull senses to trick him. Carol was in his arms, snuggled against him, no point trusting the corner of a fuzzy eye. And then he fisted a handful of frizzy curls and came to a halt abruptly, drawing back, bewildered, stormy gaze skittering over her face. Karen returned the startled look and he cringed, identifying the woman in his embrace. It was the sob piercing his daze along with the mortifying realization that Carol had truly come again only to arrest him kissing another woman that coerced him to glance up again for a fleeting glimpse of red fabric blazing like a banner before vanishing around the corner.

_If I could find assurance to leave you behind  
I know my better half would fade  
I'll follow you down._

He launched forward on pure instinct, jostling Karen out of his way until he vaguely perceived the snatch on his forearm. Daryl cast a sidelong glance towards her and shook his head at the expectant gaze, sparing just a split second. "Sorry."

Karen nodded, immediately taking a step beck, eyes downcast. "Go," she whispered.

And then he was running.

"_You're my compass, remember? You're here to light my way in the darkness of this world."  
― __Rebecca Lim__, __Fury_

* * *

**Daryl, you jerk! **

**The last part with Karen was a request from ****DerpPaws-McReedus-Caryl-LOVER**** (sneaky, lady, playing with my heart :))and it gave me hell to write because all I wanted was to punch Daryl in his beautiful face :) He **_**was**_** drunk. And he **_**really**_** thought he was kissing Carol. Please, please, please, say he's redeemable!**

**Now, I know things are kind of heated lately for the way Karen is portrayed. Let me be clear and honest, once and for all. I don't have an opinion for this character yet, zero. After the screen time she was given on the show I can't remember her character (Too caught up imagining Carol and Daryl kiss, probably, LOL). But she is the only woman I know except for our core group. **

**I absolutely love Tyreese and all I'm doing with him is to use him as a plot device to trigger things between Carol and Daryl, because I don't know him well enough to write him down properly. Let alone what I have done with the Governor. And I think it's ok, because the great thing about writing fictional characters is that they have no feelings and they don't get hurt no matter how we use them to serve our story. So, I'm sticking to my right to use any character, male or female, to make Caryl shine in the end. And I apologize to anyone who feels offended by my choices.**

**The writers, on the other hand, we are real and we do have feelings and most of us are sensitive beyond reason :) That being said, let's be nice to each other :) And, yes, that still means constructive criticism and negative comments are welcome :)**


	34. Save The Last Dance For Me

**_Hey, everyone!_**

**_My sincere apologies for the delay to post this one. I slipped with my bike the other day and sprained my right wrist *face palm* So, I've been typing with my left. Yep, it sucks. Nope, don't try it. It has turned me into a grumpy bundle of nerves. There's a freaking reason why we have two hands :(_**

**_I'm humbled by your love and support, thank you :) I tried my best for this one, but it will probably disappoint you with me being in the entire wrong mood to write *sigh* Anyway… Tissue warning._**

**_Peta2 worked her miracle again :)_**

**_This is the longest chapter ever. Inside: "Promise I Make" by Dakota Moon (vickih), "Everything" by Lifehouse (Lussy), "Stay" by Rihanna (LaurenEmilyxx and dark-hatake__). Just epic Caryl songs all of them. Hope I did them justice and you like the way I wove them in the scene._ **

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

He knocked at the door of the laundry room. No answer. His jaw clenched as both Glenn and Tyreese were urging him to keep calm, hands lifted. All the three of them had heard indistinct fussing from inside; fussing replaced by dead silence the second the door banged.

"It's me," Daryl muttered against the cold metal. Tyreese was chewing the inside of his cheek at the lack of response and Glenn leaned against the wall. "Now what?" he whispered, but they both eyed him sheepishly.

Having about enough of this playing the gentleman shit, and not offering the others the chance to stop him, Daryl was swiftly smacking the door with his fists. "Open the god damn door, or I'm knocking it down," he roared.

He had stormed outside, scanning the party in the yard for Carol to detect absolutely no sign of her. Rick hadn't seen her. Hershel hadn't seen her. Beth hadn't seen. Freaking Maggie and Michonne were nowhere to be found either and he wasn't about to start interrogating all these strangers from Woodbury. He had avoided them reverently for months, he planned to keep it that way. Unless he turned the whole place upside down and still couldn't find her. Then he'd beg.

Walking back into the main building only to bump into Glenn and Tyreese exiting the kitchen, Daryl saw red. He grabbed the other guy's collar, fist balled to take a swing, but Glenn jumped between them, barely avoiding the collision with Daryl's white knuckles as he shoved him away. Tyresse returned the murderous look and held his ground steadfastly, towering over him to stress explicitly the superiority of his physical constitution.

"Daryl! What are you doing?"

He launched forward once again, blind and feral, jostling Glenn between the two of them. There was rage mixed up with despair again, only this time dizziness had briskly evaporated. Sober again, as if all it took to rinse away his inebriation was terror and adrenaline pumping up in his veins. "Where's Carol?" he spluttered as close to him as possible, finger pointed at his face.

Glenn regarded him like he was a nutcase, but then again, maybe he really was. "We were looking for Maggie and Michonne," he said, still fighting him off.

Two set of eyes skimmed at something behind him and Daryl whirled around, hopeful and eager, only to find Karen scurrying her way to the yard, his gaze stabbing daggers on her back.

"Oh, fuck. You did something stupid, didn't you?" Tyreese glowered at him and Daryl couldn't muster the nerve to glance up. "And you wanna punch _me_ for that?" he went on, chuckling humorlessly.

"Thought Carol was with you," he bit out. At the beginning. And then he thought she was in his cell, kissing him. And then she really was there, watching him kiss another woman and this was just the biggest clusterfuck of incompetence and miscommunication since the dawn of time.

"That's your excuse?" Tyreese's gaze softened. There was understanding inside it now and, maybe, some pity. "You know, that might work for men talk but you really have to come up with something better for her."

It was too damn much. Not the humiliation. The guilt. Over nothing, just nothing. Because that's exactly what kissing Karen meant. Nothing. It was kissing Carol that mattered. Daryl threaded his fingers through his hair, all the fight abandoning him. "You know where she is?"

He sounded defeated and Glenn snatched his shoulder. "Haven't seen her for a while," Tyreese said calmly, brow furrowed. "Wait! Uh… She says the only place to get some privacy lately is the laundry room."

In the absence of better leads, that was all the incentive Daryl needed. "No one's seen her in the yard. I'm going through the tombs," he hollered over his shoulder, already jogging through the corridors.

Glenn and Tyreese were instantly on his tail. "We're coming with you. Maybe we'll find Maggie and Michonne as well."

"No guns?" Tyreese asked.

"The tombs are safe," Glenn reassured him. "Besides, who wants to be in an enclosed space with you and a gun?"

"Can't argue with that," Tyreese laughed and opened up his gait to catch up with Daryl. "We have to clear the air, you and I."

Daryl blushed violently but slowed down nevertheless, smart enough to keep his mouth shut this time.

"Yep," Glenn agreed as they marched deeper and deeper into the tombs. "I could use some heads up myself. With the wedding and all, I feel I've missed things. Let alone I'm missing my wife right now."

* * *

Carol slammed the door behind her, exhaling labored breaths. This was her hideout, not that anyone would care where she was, definitely not him. Sobs penetrated her frame as she dumped the heels across the room, not even looking at them. Stupid heels. Stupid Carol. As if wearing them or not made any difference. She had fooled herself again into believing she might stand a chance there; that it was who he is and how he was raised to despise and degrade himself that hampered her efforts to get through to him. But it wasn't; he just wasn't into her. He could kiss other women, he just didn't want to kiss her. And he had seen her standing there, bawling like the lame woman she was. It was mortifying how exposed and disgraced and hurt she was, like there was nothing else left around her and she was floating in a dark ocean of pain.

"Thought it was a wedding, not a funeral."

She jumped at the sound of Maggie's voice; both she and Michonne were plopped on the floor. "Jesus! What are you two doing here?" she choked through sobs, wiping away tears only for fresh ones to stream down.

Maggie's eyes were blurry and uncoordinated and Michonne took it upon herself to explain, but her eyes drifted on Carol, concerned. "Hiding. The drunk over here remembered she didn't have a bachelorette party."

"Why, Carol?" Maggie scrambled on her knees abruptly, hiccupping and slurring, too immersed in her fogginess to realize that Carol was crying. "Why didn't I have a bachelorette party?"

"You said you'd rather have a night watch party with your future husband, sweetheart." She was still whimpering, but was too spent to care who else witnessed her breakdown. Didn't make much difference after losing everything. And she was just plain numb, really, not feeling anything; the deep, seeping wildfire that Daryl's thought usually stirred inside had sputtered and died.

"I did?" Maggie exclaimed, surprised at the revelation. "Oh, yeah… I think I did say that…" she muttered, pouting her lips. "Now what? Can't have one now, can I? Well, shit."

"What's wrong with you?" Michonne asked calmly.

Maggie narrowed her eyes and shuffled closer to Carol, examining her like an exotic animal, suddenly lunging to squeeze her tightly. "Daryl?"

"Just… don't," Carol shook her head, offering them a half smirk that never reached her teary eyes. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"You have to marry him, now."

"Maggie!" Carol admonished her.

Michonne ran a palm over her face. "Maggie, I don't think…"

"No, no, no, no… You two stop 'Maggieing' me," she glared at both of them. "We need to have a bachelorette party and Beth is too young and you… Well, you don't interact with people that much." Her gaze drifted to Michonne before motioning towards Carol. "So, Carol has to marry Daryl." She nodded firmly, grinning triumphantly. "Then we can have that party. Simple as that."

The black woman registered Carol's fresh tears and decided to keep the banter on. "Can't fight that logic," she shrugged. "And do what? Call a walker stripper?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Maggie frowned. "It's not like I had one!" And then she tugged Carol even closer. "What did he do now?"

At the sound of new sobs echoing in the room, Michonne cussed under her breath. "Want me to get you something? Water or…"

"Thanks. I'm fine, really," Carol swallowed hard, striving to control herself. "Just thought this was the one place to be alone."

"Yeah. Me too," she grimaced, raising a brow.

"Who are you hiding from?"

"Everyone," Michonne chuckled.

And then they heard the door knocking. Carol jumped on her feet and Michonne hushed Maggie immediately.

The girl shriveled, goggling at both of them. "If it's a walker, tell him to go away," she waved frantically. "I can't stain my wedding dress!"

Carol's chin trembled at the bouncing door and she retreated at the back of the room.

"Oh! It's just Daryl," Maggie announced merrily.

Michonne hurried to the doorway. The knob swiveled.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he came face to face with Michonne.

"Hold your horses now, tough guy," she deadpanned, eyeing him fearlessly.

Tyreese grabbed him, leaning over his ear. "Shit hit the fan. Take it like a boss."

"You better fix this, Daryl," Maggie barked at him as she stepped outside, chin up, not sure what she was referring to.

"Don't you have a wedding party to be at?" he countered, not glancing at her but peering over Michonne to spot Carol in the corner with her back turned to them.

Glenn was next to her in a flash. "Maggie, what the hell?"

"Sorry, baby," she slurred, throwing her arms around him. "I just couldn't remember why I didn't have a bachelorette party."

Michonne ran a palm across her face. "There we go again…"

"And I thought maybe you didn't allow me to have one and I got mad at you"

"Jeez…" Glenn rolled his eyes. "As if it would have made a difference what I allowed or not."

"Am I a bad wife already?"

"Come on guys," Tyreese's voice rang loud and clear as he hustled them all down the corridor. "Let's go get productive somewhere else." He cast a last peek at Daryl, but he was already sliding inside the room, eyes transfixed on Carol.

* * *

She realized she was trapped in there with him when the lock clicked and she then heard the thrashing of the key being shoved inside his pocket. Her skin crawled.

Daryl stepped in sucking a few stabilizing breaths, eyes digging holes on her shaking back. He had found her. Good. They were alone. Good. And he had no idea what to say or do. Especially now that he could see she was crying. Tyreese hadn't coached him for that moment. His only advice was to try and be as less of an asshole as possible and touch her and hug her. The entire time. It was tricky already.

_Girl, you're every breath I take  
Oh baby,  
Your love rules every move I make  
Oh baby,  
_

"Midnight laundry?" His voice was calm, in stark contrast with his inner turmoil, but he knew his attempt to joke failed miserably by the way Carol stiffened at his words, misinterpreting them for irony. He took a few steps closer, strides heavy and hesitant until he was standing right behind her. "What are you doing here?"

_And I know that you can't read my mind  
And baby, maybe I  
_

"Midnight laundry," Carol sneered, furious at the way he mocked her on the top of it all, before her voice choked into a sob. This was too painful, having to face him no more than five minutes after he broke her heart.

It was bold. Bold and maybe a little harsh the way he cupped her shoulders to spin her around, but he didn't mean it. He just had to meet her eyes, explain, as articulate as he could. She squirmed and whimpered, shivering at his touch, and jerked to get away, but her feeble resistance was hopeless as he crammed her between his body and the washing machine. "Hell of a laundry if it has you crying." His smile was pained, her heaving chest gushed a new wave of guilt into his veins; this was his fault.

_Don't say it as often as I should  
But I really want it to be heard  
When I say I love you that's for good_

She just couldn't stop crying like a meek, needy, pathetic woman and it only made her cry harder. Until she met his gaze. There was something in there; apologetic, but not just that. There was a fire, a determination, an obstinacy she hadn't met before. And he was pleading with her, not taunting her. "What do you want?" she mumbled between sniffles, gritting her teeth to regain control of her actions. It only hurt more that he felt the need to chase after her in order to comfort her, completely aware of how desperate she was.

Coarse fingertips traced her fuzzy eyes, wiping tears that refused to be barred by her sheer will. Tyreese had said that, too. That once he started it would get easier. It did. Because, somehow, even for him, his aloof demeanor and aversion to physical contact, touching Carol was natural, almost essential. Not almost. Just essential.

_You have my word  
That day after day after all  
I will always be true  
That's a promise I make to you_

"To talk," he whispered huskily, aware of how odd this request rang coming from him. It was the fear. The fear of losing her once and for all that motivated him to surmount his limits and ignore his hammering heart or his baited breath.

"Since when are you up for talking?" she asked coldly.

"I'm sorry." It was quiet. And simple. And sincere.

He was too close, too close for her to think. What had happened was pretty much the final blow to her trampled dignity and she didn't even know what he was apologizing for. It was not a crime that he didn't want her. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" The words were muffled as she took in the masculinity oozing off every pore of him.

_You, you take this heart of mine  
And make it better  
I need you to  
Come and walk with me through this life  
Forever  
_

"No," he croaked, hands rubbing her bare arms, eyes unable to resist flickering at the red dress stressing the paleness of her skin. "I'm sorry." A whisper, barely audible.

She was biting her lip, oblivious that blood was already spurting through a slit. "What about Karen?" Her voice wavered at the name.

Daryl shrugged, at a loss for words. There was no way to clarify this mess.

"See? I can't always do all the talking alone," Carol sighed, blinking away the mist. "Read between the lines. I just can't."

He couldn't put his finger on what was more unnerving; her emotionally drained tone or the bowed head averting her gaze from him. "Nothing happened," he rasped; a huge lump blistering in his throat hobbled his effort to sound composed, too distracted as his fingertips petted her mangled lip and she tensed under his touch. "Nothing more than what you saw."

_And I know these words are long over due  
And baby, maybe I_

_Don't say it as often as I should  
But I really want it to be heard  
When I say I love you that's for good_

Carol huffed and yanked away, painfully gulping sobs. "What I saw wasn't nothing," she snapped.

Daryl backed up, startled, and she grasped the opportunity to glide away. "I was drunk," he muttered miserably, eyes downcast.

"You still are." It wasn't a question, just a grim declaration.

"No, I ain't," he yelled, eyes growing wide as she walked away, shoveling as much distance between them as the confined place permitted, emotion building up precariously in his chest. "Not after… all this. I'm as fuckin' sober as it gets." Inhaling deeply, he just went for it. "I thought you were getting in on with Tyreese. Asshole couldn't leave you alone for two seconds, even when you were in my arms."

_You have my word  
That day after day after all  
I will always be true  
That's a promise I make to you  
_

When she swirled to face him her gaze was glassy."And yet I wasn't the one making out in my cell," she stated solemnly, shoulders squared and stance proud. "_You_ were kissing _her_. And _you_ had every right to, no reason to apologize. Just don't make this about me."

Panic. Pungent cluelessness as to how the hell contrive a way to blast the glossiness of the cerulean ocean puncturing him. It was the tidal wave of woe he simply knew lurked beneath the façade of transparency that ignited his queasiness. "Thought she was you," he breathed. The words evanesced in the thick atmosphere of the room and he crouched over the cement floor, palm chafing his etched brow.

Carol snorted, rolling her eyes, evidently misinterpreting the hint in his declaration. "She's alone. No husband. Just lost her child. Fits the profile to play hero." Venom drizzling from each eloquently articulated accusation. She regretted it, of course, the moment it spurted out there she wished she could re-scribble the last line, but pursed her lips stubbornly instead.

_I may hold you  
I may need you  
I may want to  
And baby, maybe I  
_

Daryl hauled up and towered over her in a split second, her back flush against the frigidity of the door. "If you were a man, you'd be dead for that," he seethed in her face, each word drawled through gritted teeth, the cracking sound of knuckles colliding with metal resounding inches away from her face.

"I didn't mean it," she whispered, embarrassed that, momentarily, she had feared he'd hit her. He would never lay a hand on her, she knew. Still, she didn't feel like apologizing, eyeing him harshly. Even if she had hurt him, it didn't begin to cover the tip of the iceberg of how much he had hurt her. Inwardly, she was screaming.

He frantically paced the length of the room, gagging from the volcano of simmering wrath ripe to erupt, nostrils flaring, chest bobbing up and down. "I'm telling you I thought she was you and all you have to say is that she fits the profile?" he roared. "Well, fuck you!"

_Don't say it as often as I should  
But I really want it to be heard  
That day after day after all  
I will always be true  
That's a promise I make to you  
_

It took several minutes for the tension between them to ebb away. In the meanwhile, Carol started crying again, fiddling with the doorknob while Daryl kicked to hell every single material inside there, fists clenching and unclenching. She couldn't stay in there another second, the amount of looming violence and fuming temper that diffused in a misshapen halo encompassing him was too detonate for the cramped space for her to bare. Let alone how hard it was to believe that he had hallucinated her in Karen's shoes. And even if it was true or he just wanted to believe it desperately, Daryl did have a hero complex; it was what had brought them together in the first place, his need to do, do _anything_ for a lamenting mother. And Karen fitted the profile, whether he was conscious of that or not. So, no. Carol could be hurt for hurting him, but couldn't really feel remorseful.

He closed the distance between them again, gait aggressive clomping on the ground, and ripped his shirt open with one fluid movement, eyes raking all over her frame. Carol flinched at the ferocity of the gesture, registering the clinking sound of buttons aimlessly bouncing on the concrete floor, her watery gaze snared by his inflamed eyes. Clasping her hand with both his, he pressed it against his heart, impervious to the exposed scars marring the smoothness of his curves; he just hoped she'd ration out a way to get the memo and fathom what he wanted to show her. It was provocative, testing her restraint and forbearance and she resented him for a second. Resented how crippled his raw demonstrations rendered her, horrified and fascinated by his animalistic instincts and savage demeanor at once. Because he was always tiptoeing on the thin edge of the wedge, yet tamed it down effectively before rage spill over, at least in her presence. And now, feeling his heart racing like a lion's in jeopardy, she only wished she could forget and puddle in his arms.

_All along it was a fever  
A cold sweat hot-headed believer  
I threw my hands in the air I said show me something  
He said, if you dare come a little closer_

"I thought she was you," he moaned, voice hitched and contorted, his neck muscles flexing. "I convinced myself she was you. I'm sorry."

And then she saw him. For the first time since they had been left alone, she didn't just look at him blankly, she actually saw him, stared right through him and winced, this time at his pain. And yet she couldn't forgive him. She understood, but was equally broken to the core.

"You said she's not your type and next thing I see is you kissing her," she murmured, chin trembling. This time there was no pang of indictment in her voice, just bone deep suffering and new tears rolling over the grime of the dried ones down her neck and collarbone.

Fazed by the uncompromising tone of her voice and the finality of her verdict twisting it, he braced an arm on the wall behind her to hold himself up, the other hand still clutching hers, painfully so. "Ain't got no type. Just you…" The remnants of his equanimity trampled down as he stooped over her, the limber hairs of his stubble tickling her upper lip. "Please, Carol… You have to forgive me."

_Round and around and around and around we go  
Ohhh now tell me now tell me now tell me now you know_

"You hurt me, Daryl," Carol sobbed inside his mouth, summoning even the ultimate tinge of willfulness and vigor to bow her head a notch and avoid his lips. "I believe you, but you hurt me. Again."

Loss of hope whooshed over him like a tsunami. "No, no, no, no, no," he droned, words hardly clawing their way up his throat and rested his head on hers, vibrating head to toe. "You ain't listening!" The wailing intensified as bitter tears of repentance and fear spilled over, despondency creeping and prevailing easily. He was suffocating.

_Not really sure how to feel about it  
Something in the way you move  
Makes me feel like I can't live without you  
It takes me all the way  
I want you to stay_

"I'm sorry." There was a damn heart over there, on the sleeve of the shirt she had picked, swinging from a thread wearing out with each ticking second her gloomy gaze preserved her resoluteness, unswerving at his pleas. His fuckin' heart, the possession of which had remained oblivious to him until his path crossed Carol. A throbbing heart, stripped and bleeding, powerlessly struggling to keep beating under the wrench of the imminent defeat.

Carol shook her head imperceptibly, forehead rubbing against his. Not this time. "I know. I believe you. But it changes nothing," she mumbled.

He could see it now, crystal clear. It was a cosmic irony that he only got this bright view of his feeling and the pain he had flogged on her the moment he plummeted into abyss. No way was he going to win this; he could do and say anything and it would be of no avail. Mistakes had been accumulated for far too long, kissing Karen while hallucinating Carol was nothing but the last straw. She couldn't take it anymore despite the toll it inflicted on her.

Her touch was scorching his flesh, his heart racing and pounding beneath it to tear his sternum open and leap in her hand.

_It's not much of a life you're living  
It's not just something you take, it's given  
Round and around and around and around we go  
Ohhh now tell me now tell me now tell me now you know_

"I'm an asshole, I know," he groaned in dismay. Burning droplets of salty tears dripped on her cheeks, others worming a trail to her lips and Carol cringed. "But if you can't forgive me… Then… Then…" Then he didn't know who he was, anymore. Then he was terrified he'd slip back to the person he was raised to be, worthless, and irrevocably so. Then he'd lose the compass that rapped to the light. Then he'd be dead inside like he was a year ago and it was one thing never getting a chance to know how being alive felt and an entirely different one committing suicide deliberately. "Thought she was you," he choked and violent sobs perforated his figure.

Her sniffles ceased abruptly at the fervor of his grief. What had initiated as beads of sweat forming across his temples and ragged breaths had briefly escalated into pouring water and hyperventilation. His heart walloped to vault out his chest and her hand recoiled.

Carol gasped. "Oh, my God." She could feel it skipping beats and then bump erratically. He could feel it cease altogether, squished into ashes, grateful for a quick physical death right now, right there. Wheezing sounds escaped his lungs as he kept panting in vain and his knees quivered.

_Not really sure how to feel about it  
Something in the way you move  
Makes me feel like I can't live without you  
It takes me all the way  
I want you to stay  
_

"Daryl, calm down," she implored alarmed, his devastation goading her to action. Peeling her palm off his chest, skin converting into ice away from the burning furnace of his flesh, she cupped his nape and drew him closer to steady his vacillating balance, her other arm locked sternly around his waist.

The warmth of her embrace, the mesmerizing physical scent radiating off her and the steel grip of trepidation coalesced with terror that he had lost her forever completely did him in and he sagged all over her, succumbing to the engulfing darkness.

Carol's legs buckled under his dead weight. "I can't hold you," she bellowed and the next moment she tottered and plumped on the floor with a booming thump, hands clasped around his slouched torso to keep him atop and minimize the impact of the collision for him. Her entire body screamed as she was crushed between two rocky surfaces, but it didn't register with her agitation. Every cell commanded that she jump up on her feet and run to fetch Hershel, but she was pinned to the spot by the way he clung to her, blocking her airway, igniting a kindling sting in her ribs.

_Ohhh the reason I hold on  
Ohhh cause I need this hole gone_

She had forgotten why they were arguing and crying in the first place under the vehemence of the misery whipping him. "I forgive you, just calm down," she cried, their individual desperations leveling to bridge the gap between them. "I forgive you."

It took a while of chanting his name and beseeching him to calm down, cooing words of comfort and reassurance as she rocked him back and forth, before the spasms jarring his frame subsided. Daryl was curled around her, every single muscle wobbling heatedly under his skin, their bodies nothing but a clutter of slipshod limbs woven together, matching masterfully like pieces of the same jigsaw.

_Funny you're the broken one but I'm the only one who needed saving  
Cause when you never see the lights it's hard to know which one of us is caving_

Unable herself to breathe for far too long, she kept it from him. It was always like that, his grip a vise clamped around her. Always. And she had relished it only too rarely to be anywhere close to satiated, the last time being earlier that night when he hindered her fall and she had swooned in his arms. There was an ambiguity in that embrace; on the one hand, it hurled a lukewarm sense of ultimate safety inside her as if it was an impenetrable shield. On the other, it smothered her, sucking the air out of her lungs and all she could do was to flap there impotently like a spineless heap of sinews. She was startled at the dreadful realization of the moment that she savored both sensations equally, of salvation and perishing, as long as he was there.

Eventually, he lifted his head just a few inches to reveal a swollen face, red-rimmed eyes staring at her, wide. "Thought she was you," he mumbled for the umpteenth time and tugged her closer.

_Not really sure how to feel about it  
Something in the way you move  
Makes me feel like I can't live without you  
It takes me all the way_

"It's ok now." She offered a tight-lipped smile in response, voice soft, cool fingers shunting away the sticky mops of hair that cloaked his face, drenched in his own sweat.

He leaned into her touch and exhaled deeply before propping his head on her collarbone, a stray sob shuddering him every now and then, her response being a tighter squeeze. After what seemed like forever, he relaxed the firm grip around her and eased himself in her lap. "Ain't used to be a whiny baby," he sulked, blushing fervently. "Sorry if I crushed you."

Shaking her head, Carol locked her watery gaze with him, too overwhelmed to utter even the briefest word. And she sighed. He was fine, they were fine.

_I want you to stay, stay  
I want you to stay, ohhh_

"I know I ain't running for gentleman of the year," he rasped, voice trembling. "But I ran down here."

She had forgiven him, minutes ago. The moment she realized that her exoneration was essential to him, nothing else mattered. Somehow the switch in her head flipped. His meltdown conveyed all the messages his mouth failed to articulate. Daryl wasn't a spoiled brat to force his will through tears; she actually doubted he even knew tears could work that way. He was defeated when he collapsed and that's precisely what shocked her to the core. Because he had been defeated in the past and never had he surrendered so wholly to lamentation. Amazing the sovereignty that man held over her. He had shattered her into a pieces, over and over again, convinced her she was broken beyond repair and then glued her back together. Not by pompously avowing his love or making any grand gesture, but simply by showing her what losing her meant to him. There was no bigger profession than that.

_Find me here, and speak to me  
I want to feel you, I need to hear you  
You are the light that's leading me to the place  
Where I find peace again_

"You did, didn't you?" Carol smiled to him. "Why?"

Lacing his fingers with the hand still caressing the lines of his face, he glanced up at her bashfully. His movements were awkward, unsure, but she let him seize the initiative, let him lead, let him do whatever he needed to derive confidence and security. "Why did you come to my cell?" he blundered, eyes raking around her face.

"To say I'm in love with you and ask you if you feel the same way," she offered quietly.

_You are the strength that keeps me walking  
You are the hope that keeps me trusting  
You are the life to my soul  
You are my purpose_

Daryl sealed his eyes, but the corners of his mouth quirked upwards. "There's a reason you do all the talking," he uttered with great effort, voice wriggling with emotion. "It's because you can say the answers."

Carol chuckled wholeheartedly this time. "So, you want me?" she asked, ripe to accept whatever he had to serve her, whatever, granted that he responded affirmatively to that.

He nodded, swallowing hard and relief washed over him when she nodded back, settling for something as tiny as this. Only for a second, though. Daryl instantly gnawed at his thumbnail, eyes flicking around and he could sense her wary gaze on him. He felt like an idiot again, thrusting heedlessly such an abundance of misery to her only to prove himself cheaper than Scrooge when everything zeroed in to proffer… love. And he wanted to. He could never be complete, happy, appeased until he mounted to the summit of the craggy path arm in arm with Carol. His heart was safe with her. He wanted to make sure that she knew hers was safe with him, too.

_You're everything  
And how can I stand here with you  
When I say I love you that's for good  
You have my word_

Daryl cleared his clogged throat, mentally amping up his self-esteem, easy enough since his get-go was point zero and, placing a fleeting peck on the back of her hand, he freed himself from the grip and scrambled up onto his knees.

She inspected him cautiously, eyes transfixed on the nervous twitch of his face and his pressed lips, but no sting of fear reached her. Only a quavering sensation in her lower belly at the mischievous twinkle waltzing in his gaze as he bent over her, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. He lingered like that for a few seconds, mustering his courage and Carol bristled like a cat at the hot breath burning up her sanity, her fingers kneading the back of his skull encouragingly.

_And not be moved by you  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?_

"I can't breathe without you," he whispered, heaving.

He felt the crinkling of a blossoming grin against his skin accompanied with dampness worming its way between them and he drew back, smiling crookedly, the tips of his ears turning crimson. "See? That's the reaction I was afraid of. You have to stop crying. Ain't healthy all that crying the whole fuckin' time."

_You calm the storms and you give me rest  
You hold me in your hands  
You won't let me fall  
_

"Are you ok?" A cool hand stroked his face, her ear to ear cheerful smile never faltering despite the glistening tears.

"No, I ain't ok," Daryl chortled. "Talking about feelings and crying like a pussy and shit."

Carol shrugged. "We can stop then."

_You steal my heart and you take my breath away  
Would you take me in, take me deeper now _

"You can punch me," he stated in all seriousness. "Or kick me in the balls." Carol gaped and he elaborated. "For what happened in my cell."

She pondered, evaluating her options. "I just want to slap you, though," she deadpanned, stifling a giggle the best she could.

"That's all?" His eyes almost gouged out of their sockets. "Go ahead, you can still punch me after that," he went on, tucking his feet under his butt, eager to deal with the unforeseen, light repercussions of his stupidity and start over with a clean slate.

_And how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this_

Scrunching up his face he motioned to her in anticipation of the blow, eyelids closed.

Carol shuffled closer, kneeled opposite to him and bestowed herself a moment to take in his supreme beauty as his features creased more and more with each passing second. She couldn't quite adjudicate whether it was funny or tragic or both of it simultaneously as most of the subtleties connecting them seemed to be that he really, truly, sincerely expected her to hit him so she leaned forward and planted a peck on lips, bouncing back on her original post the moment his eyes fluttered open.

_And how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this  
_

She was panting now, insecurities about the inevitable comparison of her paltry kissing skills to Karen's counterpart hitting the surface, but he was all over her in a flash, crashing his lips on hers, calloused hands framing her face.

It was inept the kiss, both of the participants a bundle of nerves, clumsiness and ignorance.

Then again, it was perfect; in a twisted kind of way, the one that suited them.

_Cause you're all I want, you're all I need  
You're everything, everything _

Fearful, due to the damaged past. Brave, in virtue of a promising future.

Hesitant, because the scars were always there. Eager, as they weren't bleeding anymore.

Urgent, nothing they wanted more. Passionate, in sore need of each other.

_You're all I want  
You're all I need  
You're everything, everything_

Lips unyielding first, ungluing a slim cleft to start moving later, exploring each other.

"Your turn to slap me," Carol mewled in his mouth.

_You're all I want  
You're all I need  
You're everything, everything_

Hissing at the pain of her fissured lip, she stayed put nevertheless and he decelerated the pace, a wet tongue emerging through his mouth to sweep into hers, lingering long enough to lick the sting away.

_You're all I want  
You're all I need  
Everything, everything_

Daryl smirked crookedly, aroused. "Slap me some more, now."

She devoured his mouth then, claiming dominance and he launched forward, reciprocating the zeal, tongues swirling in a lustful dance.

_And how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this  
And how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you_

His hands traced down her spine, the groping touch intensifying with each ticking second, as he fumbled with the layers of folding, red garment.

Fisting a hem of his shred shirt, she rolled her eyes, dazzled by the invigorating sucking of her neck, bound to plaster a shiny hickey, and arched backwards to give him full access.

_Would you tell me how could it be any better-any better than this  
And how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you_

When her nails grazed his back, teeth nibbling at his earlobe, the bulge between his thighs pulsated to propel out.

Broad arms wrapped around her frame, her own locked around his nape, fingertips digging into her ribcage and she melted into him.

_Would you tell me how could it be any better than this  
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this_

Nobody ever learned what Michonne faced the next morning, when she used the key from the slew on Rick's key ring to enter the laundry room carrying a basket of filthy clothes, but when she stumbled back in the canteen where most members of the group strived with a devastating hangover her chocolate skin was embellished by a set of chalky white lips and she stuttered as if she had just stomped into a ghost. Daryl refused to be in the same room with her for over a month and Carol made it her life's enduring purpose to keeping Michonne content.

"_I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?"  
― Haruki Murakami, __Norwegian Wood_

* * *

**_Daryl falling apart made me a wreck despite the banter in the end. I hope it left you with a sweet taste._**

**_Lately I have problem making him open up verbally, no idea why. So, I gave him an adrenaline rush, a full blown panic attack and a breakdown to redeem him. After that, talking was a piece of cake. Poor guy, he almost died at the thought of losing Carol. Is he forgiven now?_**

**_This time I have nothing for my next story, though. Usually I keep drafts with random ideas that turn into stories later, but now just nothing. That being said, it's a great time for requests. If you have any, especially angsty, bring them on!_**

**_I still owe three songs, to Haitus80, Chastyre and Val. They are coming, just give me some time. I need a little break from the songs right now :)_**

**_Off to curl up in my bed now and continue being grumpy._**

**_Thank you all for the follows/faves/reviews :) They make me happy._**


	35. What Is Sex

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**This is a sweet little piece of nothing I had to get out of my system. I'm getting sappy lately, I know :)**_

_**Remember Hope from chapter 31? Well, she's back :)**_

* * *

A year earlier

"_I thought you were asleep," Carol giggled._

_She had tiptoed her way in the bedroom as lightly as she could, not wanting to disturb Daryl who had come back a few hours ago from a two day hunting trip, exhausted, and headed straight to bed after a quick shower. Carol shimmied out of her clothes in utter silence and reached the edge of their bed, the mattress sagging just a notch under her weight. The moment she leaned forward to snag her night pants, though, a muscled arm locked around her waist._

"_You think a lot of things," he nibbled her neck, smirking at the way her breath hitched in a flash. "That head of yours is fuckin' rumbling."_

"_Always a sweet talker, Daryl." Her back arched to provide him unobstructed access and a spark ignited, rattling up her spine._

"_Sounds like me," he grunted huskily. His free hand grasped the pants she was holding and tossed them behind him before turning her to face him full front. "Can't resist my charm, can you?"_

"_Never could," Carol breathed and her lips went pliant under his greedy assault._

_After a while, they were both naked, Daryl positioned on top of her, fingers groping every curve of her body and tongue trailing a moist path around her nipples as she moaned in delight, eyelids seamed and legs clamped around him._

_When the door swung open they both gasped and jerked in unison._

"_Mommy! Daddy!" Five year old Hope was standing in the doorway, eyes watery. "I had a nightmare!" she hollered, trotting to her parents with open arms, Sophia's doll dangling from one hand._

_Daryl flopped over and landed hard with his back on the wooden floor groaning loudly whereas Carol barely had time to yank the flowery sheet atop her, idly thinking that she didn't recognize half of the swears he grumbled as they were both still panting, before Hope collided with her._

_They were caught having sex, that was the problem. And as soon as Hope was cooed and soothed she didn't neglect to ask innocently what they were doing naked and how come they weren't cold. It was a legendary night that engraved in history for the glorious and erudite speech Daryl gave once he had his pants on and adjusted himself against the bed frame, stroking Hope's hair. Carol listened to him spellbound with mouth hanging as he explained that mom had a nightmare too and when grown-ups have nightmares they take off their clothes, otherwise they can't get comforted. Hope registered everything in awe, nodding, serious and concentrated before finally dozing off._

* * *

"What is sex?"

Carol's fork teetered over her plate and she hardly snatched it before plummeting to the kitchen floor. Daryl choked on his rabbit stew, chest retching in a regurgitative spasm as he coughed and gasped for air. Toppling her chair, Carol launched on her feet and rounded him, slapping at his back. With a sharp blow between his shoulder blades in sync with a coarse hack, the chunk of meat was eventually dislodged from Daryl's throat.

"Silly daddy," Hope scowled, shaking her head. "Mommy says always take time to chew slowly before swallowing. You never listen."

He was still buzzing with the aftershocks of their daughter's inquiries almost smothering him to death, when Carol handed him a glass of water. She was bent over him, chin resting on the curve of his neck, hand rubbing soothing circles on his chest as he gulped the liquid and heaved a few stabilizing breaths. He knew it; he had always known that these two women equaled his death.

"Easy now, Daryl. We got this," Carol whispered in his ear.

Squinting at her flustered face, suddenly compelled to shove her on the oak surface of the table and provide a visual demonstration of "what sex is" to Hope, he willed himself to stay put and in control.

"So, what is sex?"

Carol retrieved her seat casting a peek over Daryl who gawked at her, completely at a loss for words. "Where did you hear that word, honey?" she asked tranquilly.

"School," Hope shrugged casually, inspecting cautiously the way their parents strived to dodge the question. She was a little person, as her daddy called her, not a fool.

Carol scooted closer to Daryl and cupped his knee beneath the table. His hand clutched hers immediately, interlacing their fingers and he sucked in a lungful of air. He was awkward, beyond awkward. He wanted to rant, rave, quail and bolt and not even necessarily in this order, but didn't move an inch nevertheless and Carol was proud of him.

"Sex is something that grown-ups who love each other do," she offered with forethought, leaning forward to tuck a frizzy curl behind Hope's ear.

Hope mulled over it, brow furrowed. "Like they kiss?"

"Huh-huh," Carol nodded, poking Daryl to cooperate and he immediately plastered a fake smirk on his face.

"And how is sex different than kissing?"

She felt her fingers crush under his squeeze and gritted her teeth to preserve her equanimity. "Well… You know how-how a kiss only involves the mouth of two people?" Carol asked and Hope assented. "Sex involves the entire body." There was hesitation there, a subtle stammering that didn't go unnoticed from her audience though.

Daryl watched Carol fidgeting and chimed in. "All your stew is still in your plate, little lady, and all you do is yapp," he glared at her, motioning at the intact plate. Both their gazes flicked over at the timer on the oven, the apple pie baking inside the chamber sparkled as the last ray of hope to evade the inquisition.

"I don't like stew," Hope sulked, pouting her lips at him.

That was all it usually took to have it her way with her father. But not today. Daryl was too clammed up by the disturbing topic that had popped out of nowhere during their lunch and he resented how poor an assistance he provided to Carol. Truth was he prayed for a heart attack, but wasn't about to leave her to deal with sex questions alone, at least physically, because his emotional absence should be considered granted.

"Your momma is baking you an apple pie and we're both plopped here answering all these fuckin' questions," he drawled, jaw set and eyes blazing. "Eat you fuckin' food."

Carol squeezed his hand and pleadingly murmured his name, but Hope eyed him evenly, unfazed. She wasn't afraid of her father, despite being the offspring of the most intimidating hunter of their small community; she couldn't recall one single moment in her life that she pondered he might actually hurt her. Sure his was all peevish temper and fits, but Hope was an observant child. His rage was always leashed and never constituted even the slightest threat for her or her mother.

"Come on, honey," Carol motioned to her plate. "At least a few bites, otherwise there's no dessert for you."

Hope grunted, grabbing her fork and stuffing in a mouthful. Daryl snorted at her reaction and Carol stifled a giggle at how much she was her father's child.

"And can you do sex just with one person or many people?" she went on.

"No!" Daryl's fist bumped on the table; plates, glasses and silverware bouncing off swiftly. "Just one! _Maybe_ just one!" Voice trembling with trampled rage, eyes narrowed.

"Then it's not like the kiss," she countered, glaring right back at him. "Well, not you… But mom kisses a lot of people!"

Daryl gaped and Carol gasped. "No, sweetheart, I don't!" she exclaimed, aware of Daryl's furious gaze raking over her, turning to him. "Will you stop looking at me like this? I only kiss others on the cheek!"

"Out of the mouths of babes…" he grumbled.

Hope shoveled another bite in her mouth and dropped the fork in her plate, chubby, short arms crossed against her chest. "I'm not a baby," she stated.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Carol sighed at Daryl's still frowning expression. "Ok, honey, first of all, it's _'have sex'_ not _'do sex',_" she elaborated, "and it happens between people who love and kiss each other."

"Is it good?" Hope was merciless. And clueless. And way too apt at fathoming her parents body language, despite her age. She huffed at their agape mouths. "That sex thing. Is it good?"

"Ye-yeah," Carol stuttered hesitantly.

"Stew good or apple pie good?"

Daryl cussed under his breath, effectively riled up to the point that he wished they were attacked by a herd so he could just skip the freaking topic and blow off some steam. "What do you mean, Hope?"

"I eat stew because it's good for me, even if I don't like it. But apple pie? I eat because I like it," she clarified innocently. Her cerulean gaze was sincere and full of curiosity and they both melted at the tiny face looking up at them, dying to know.

Carol laughed and she felt Daryl's grip relaxing a bit. "Apple pie good," he chortled despite himself.

Hope nodded, putting another morsel in her mouth with considerable fanfare to render explicitly that she was earning both her answers and her dessert bite after bite, literally. "And why do they do it?"

"This is how babies come into the world," Carol said solemnly as she bent over the table and tucked her chin in her free hand. "People have sex, or you can say 'make love' and after nine months a baby is born."

Hope was amazed with the dawning knowledge, the wheels in her head twirling override. "So, you and dad had sex?"

Carol swallowed hard and Daryl ran a palm across his face. He was menacingly tempted to lash out at her for uttering way more details than he wished their daughter knew only to cater her inquisitiveness and add salt on his wounds.

"What?" Hope rumbled befuddled, fork waving in the air. "If that's how babies come… You have me, don't you?"

"Yes, sweetheart," Carol muttered bashfully with a sidelong glance at Daryl's bowed head. "Daddy and I had sex."

"And why don't you have sex anymore?"

His head snapped up. "We do!" he barked before he could restrain himself, instantly humiliated from his urge to defend their sex life to their kid. Next to him, Carol pursed her lips, looking miserable.

"Then why don't I get a baby to play with?" She watched her father staring at her mother, whose eyes had turned all kinds of misty and was evidently blinking tears away with great effort, his forehead creased in grave concern. Hope was instantly suspicious that he was guilty of something that was about to have her mother crying and glowered down on him.

When Daryl met her furious gaze, a gaze identical to the one he met in his mirror, a lump blistered in his throat and he felt the need to apologize for something he hadn't even done, every single inch of his face cloaked under a vivid crimson.

"Did you do something bad, daddy?" Hope growled.

"No," he gasped and shriveled, mentally scolding himself for being terrified of his own child.

"Then why are you blushing? You say I only blush when I'm caught being naughty."

Daryl's brows connected into an epic frown and he retorted the murderous look, swelling with pride that she didn't flinch.

"Have you been naughty?" Hope drawled pointedly.

"You're the only one naughty here asking all this stuff about sex and shit," he seethed, engaging in a glaring contest with her.

"Nobody's naughty. You're both good," Carol intervened calmly to restore peace, smirking at Daryl's childish demeanor.

Hope eyed her mother with remorse."HJ said that uncle Glenn and aunt Maggie have a lot of sex. That's why I wanted to ask," she confessed and Carol caressed her face.

Daryl scoffed. "Can't say I ain't surprised the kid still possess a dick to fuck."

"Daryl!" Carol slapped him on the chest.

"What?" he chuckled. "Thought Maggie chewed it off years ago."

Hope was suddenly intrigued. Out of nowhere and without her coaxing it, her daddy had revealed a connection she'd never imagined possible. All these bad words she had no idea what they meant and was never allowed to articulate had obviously something to do with the sex riddle. Amazing! She narrowed her eyes, regarding them both quizzically. "What is-" she started but was cut off mid-sentenced by the timer beeping.

Carol nearly groaned with relief and Daryl exhaled a huge puff of air.

"Oh, the pie is ready!" Hope cheered, clasping her hands.

Half an hour later she was still gorging the apple pie, smearing herself top to bottom and everything around her. When she extended two sticky hands Daryl lifted her over to the sink to clean them.

"Am I nosy?" Hope mumbled, gulping the remnants of her last bite. "Carl says I'm nosy."

"I wonder why," Daryl huffed.

"I asked him first what sex is and he said I'm nosy and to go ask my parents." She shrugged. "But I just have so many questions."

Carol swept some random crumbs away from her lips. "You're an angel, sweetheart," she said softly.

"A nosy one," Daryl smiled crookedly and Hope stuck a yellow tongue out at him.

The door pounded and Jude yelled for Hope to go out and join the rest of the kids for hide and seek. Hope squealed and stormed outside, waving at her parents.

* * *

"Come on, Hope! Spill!"

"I'm telling you, I didn't learn anything," Hope muttered, propping up on her elbows. "Just that when you have sex you have children."

HJ's eyes grew wide, threatening to leap out of their sockets at the shock of the revelation. "Every time?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Can't work like that. I'd have so many brothers and sisters…"

"Maybe we should just stalk our parents more since they're not telling us everything," she grumbled, crossing her legs, chin resting in her palm. "See what we can find out."

HJ slouched next to her, mimicking her posture, fingers fuddling with a hole in his short jeans. "You think we will ever have sex?"

"You and me?" She asked, squinting at the daylight, her ruddy face scowling. "I don't know. Problem is that if we have sex we have to kiss, too."

"Eww," HJ grimaced, his pitched voice matching it. "Kissing is gross!"

Hope sighed. "I know."

"And Jude said that Carl told her that when you have sex you are naked in the bed during night time," he confided, sharing his scoop.

"No kidding!" Hope exclaimed. "You're naked alone or with the other person?"

"I really have no idea," HJ admitted.

"That's so much grosser even than kiss."

"Yeah…"

"And apparently sex has something to do with all these bad words we're not supposed to say," she whispered conspiratorially, eyes rolling.

"Holy crap!" He gasped, covering his mouth with a hand. "Then why do people do that?"

Hope wriggled her fingers, eyeing him sheepishly. "I don't think I will ever want to have sex with you," she mumbled. "You mind?"

"No," he said firmly, unconsciously embracing the idea of lifelong virginity. "Sounds awful." He met her gaze and offered a cheeky smile lacking the two front teeth. "But we can still get married."

"I like that," Hope grinned back.

"What about kids?" he went on, scratching his forehead. "Seems like we can't have kids if we don't have sex."

She furrowed her brow, lips puckered. "We can take some from people who have then."

"Wow, that's an awesome idea, Hope!" HJ scrambled up on his feet and stretched out an arm to her. "Let's go ask Jude and the others if they want to give us a child."

She grabbed his hand. "Yeah, let's do that!"

As they ran to where the rest of the kids were playing, a lamp lit in Hope's head. Scattered memories and unconnected pieces of information started to cluster together, progressively stumbling on their right spot. Kiss, naked, bed, night, people who love each other. Suddenly all the parts spontaneously fit together, the jigsaw complete in her mind. She smirked, but kept her mouth sealed. Glenn and Maggie and Rick and Michonne weren't the only parents around having sex. Hers had too. Even if it was gross. And her daddy _had_ been naughty.

* * *

Carol was doing the dishes, her gaze occasionally skimming to the kids playing outside under Karen's and Carl's hawk eyes when Daryl hauled up on the counter next to her.

"You did well today," he said quietly, fixed on his nervous hands. "All I did was screw your lecture there."

Carol shook her head. "You stayed when all you wanted was to flee the scene, didn't you?" she offered.

They fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"We'll have to tell her eventually, the story about the night she was born," she sighed as she rinsed the last glass, face dropping.

Daryl jumped off and leaned over her, yanking the curtains of the kitchen window closed before he wrapped his board arms around her. He knew how hard this conversation would be, especially for her. It would be so fuckin' emotionally draining that he'd rather go over the sex gabbling torture a million times.

"No way will she let that drop. Not unless she finds out the truth." His grip around her tightened in reflex when her voice cracked.

"I know," he rasped in the crook of her neck as she dried her hands on a cloth.

Carol turned and he came face to face with a set of bleary eyes. "I'm sorry," she sniffled as he wiped stray tears away, voice muffled by looming sobs she was fighting back.

"It's ok," he muttered, snuggling her against his chest.

When she drew back a little, her eyes were downcast. "And with the pace she's growing and maturing, it's gonna be sooner rather than later."

Daryl heaved a sigh and tilted her chin. "Then we'll tell her," he said, voice thick with emotion.

"We?" Carol quirked a brow, looking at him expectantly, tears still glistening at the edge of her eyelashes but she forbade them to roll.

"She caught me off guard today, but I'll be prepared for that," he nodded sternly, mustering everything he had to sound and feel confident. "I promise."

"No more 'mom had a nightmare' nonsense?" Her face was scrunched up as her fingers raked the unruly wisps of his hair.

"No more of that," he chortled. "Although it was brilliant!"

Carol took in the grayish hue of his sideburns and regarded him proudly. "That it was," she smiled broadly, shunting away from his eyes a strand with its own free will.

"You trust me?" She was taken aback with the tinge of doubt detectable in his tone when he cupped her face.

"You know, there are no stupid questions for Hope," she stated dryly, almost offended by the way he questioned both of them. Almost. "But here I'm standing after all these years thinking how damn proud of you I am and you go and ask something so stupid."

Daryl scowled and let his hands hang, but Carol hugged him tightly to pin him on the spot.

"If I trust you? You know the answer, you fool," she breathed, pecking at his jaw line and he suddenly felt defenseless. "Now say it."

"Blindly," he grumbled begrudgingly, unable to get pissed at her manipulative tricks, feeling a little smug already.

"Why?" Her mouth had wandered down his neck and he felt the wet trail her tongue left in its wake.

Daryl grabbed the edge of the counter to steady himself, a soft groan escaping his lips as her lower parts were pressed against his. "'Cause I'm the best man you've ever met." This time he smirked at the cocky swaggering of his voice.

"See?" Carol lifted her head and locked her gaze with his, mere admiration and dark craving twinkling exactly where tears used to be. "That's my man."

The supple hairs of his stubble grazed the corner of her mouth and he lingered like that, pawing her ribcage. "Damn you, you're crazy."

"Do I get a little reward for keeping my shit together today?"

"What do you want?" His arm glided beneath her tank top, fingertips fiddling with the clasp of her bra, lips still brushing.

"Just say my name," she said hoarsely, unbuttoning his sleeveless shirt, her free hand snaking behind his nape.

"Carol," Daryl soughed, sucking her lower lip.

"Again."

"Carol," he almost cried out when nails grated the curves of his toned sternum and she started thrashing against his bulge. Unhooking her bra he cupped her tit, thumb toying with her nipple. "Is that all?"

"Yes," she whimpered, flapping in his arms.

He devoured her mouth and she reciprocated, lips flexing proficiently and tongues swirling in sync, technique mastered after years of incessant practice and passion unquenched in spite of it. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," Daryl maundered between kisses. "Will you stop settling with nothing?"

"I love you, Daryl," she moaned, ungluing her mouth to stare at him dead in the eye.

"I love you too," he rasped, returning the tentative gaze.

"Carol," she whispered, curling her fingers around his wrist. "I love you too, Carol."

Daryl huffed. "She goes from nothing to wantin' to kill two birds with one stone" Littering her with fresh, fleeting kisses, he paused just for a second. "I love you too… Carol."

A grin blossomed under his mouth, eyes crinkling as she eyed him mischievously. "Wanna screw around?"

Daryl rolled his eyes. "The day I say no to that, just blow out my brains, ok? But I'll go down first."

"Even better," she giggled, shoving him to the hallway.

"Feel like climbing the stairs or need a man for the dirty job?"

"I still have a few good years ahead of me. Then you'll carry little old me around everywhere."

Daryl scooped her up anyway, mounting the stairs two at a time.

"Thought you wouldn't be in the mood for this for a while after Hope's questions." She nibbled his earlobe and his knees vibrated.

"Ain't no way in hell my kid will act like a cockblocker. That's the part I save for myself for the day she comes home with a boyfriend."

Carol laughed out loud. "Wicked!"

"No bastard's doing to her what I do to her momma," he chuckled.

Kicking the door open, he almost dismantled the hinges before slamming it closed and Carol stretched to flip the lock. That lesson was learned the hard way.

* * *

The next morning, Carol was making breakfast when he emerged in the kitchen cradling Hope in his embrace.

"Someone's too sleepy today," he snorted. "Again."

"It's not me, it's the school," Hope nuzzled in his neck, stifling a huge yawn. "It's boring."

Carol beamed at the sight of them and dragged a chair, tapping her lap.

"This girl is mine," Daryl winked at her as he placed Hope in her arms.

"Just found out, huh?" she teased, drifting her attention to her dozy daughter. "Hey, honey. You think a little piece of apple pie would help you wake up?"

Hope rubbed her fuzzy eyes. "You say never sweets for breakfast," she mumbled groggily.

"I can let you get away with a little rule violation every now and then," Carol smirked, tickling her tiny belly and Hope tittered, squirming.

With mouth still crammed, she turned around to plant a sugary kiss on her mother's cheek. "Best mommy ever," she grinned ear to ear.

Daryl crouched down in front of them. "What about me?"

"I'm not so sure," Hope deadpanned. "You've been sneaky lately."

"I'm not sneaky!" he protested heatedly, eyes goggling in despair before pointing his forefinger to Carol. "Your mom is the sneaky one!"

Carol doubled over laughing. "Excellent parenting, Daryl!"

"Yes, you are," Hope went on, nodding contemplatively. "And a fibber!"

Daryl looked hurt, as if his heart was crushed by a truck and her resistance ebbed away. "But still best daddy ever," she said sweetly.

Carol put her on her feet and she leapt at Daryl, her lips producing a shrill smooch on his cheek. He grinned, teeth and everything, gawking at her like a fool.

"Chop chop, sweetheart, class's not gonna wait for you," her mom helped her hoist her school bag around her shoulders.

Hope was already at the door, hand on the knob when she remembered something, turning around to her parents. "Oh! And daddy, don't think I don't know you were having sex the night you told me mommy had a nightmare."

She vanished in a flash, leaving two thunderstruck grownups in the kitchen.

* * *

_**Sorry if my parental approach or kid's voices suck. I love kids but know absolutely nothing about them!**_

_**Hope you liked that :) I'll go back to your requests for the upcoming chapters. I have four plots and three songs to crank out, so you know… It will probably take three months! Please be patient with me, I'm a slow writer and every story takes forever but I will deliver, eventually.**_

_**Thank you all for reading :) A review would make me and little Hope very happy. **_


	36. Another Man (Part I)

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**I'm really happy you laughed with little Hope, because now we're back to good, old angst.**_

_**This story is based on a request by **__**eieball326**__**. She kind of granted me with a blank check on how to handle it *sigh* and you know me… It had to be so much more complicated! I'm sorry, honey, if this is far from what you had in mind, but I lost it again mid-story. As always, though, I tried my best… Problem is that these damn stories write themselves no matter how much I try to maintain control!**_

_**Send me your love and wishes this week :) I'm turning my whole life upside down, moving back to my country etc. and I'm trying to be brave! Hey, what's the purpose of having dreams at all if not going after them, right?**_

_**Peta2 is my guardian angel and I'm so reckless I keep her up at nights! Thank you, best beta ever!**_

_**The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

It had nothing to do with wanting another man. She didn't want any other man. She wanted him. She loved him. Really loved him and was absolutely sure she'd never cease to. What weighed an insufferable encumbrance was loneliness. Sometimes it felt like a gravestone above her chest, only she wasn't in a tomb yet. There might have been one dug for her outside the fence, but she didn't lie beneath the shoveled dirt. She was alive. Very much alive and breathing. And she was young. Maybe not in her twenties, but, damn she was young. Nowhere near giving up on her life again; she had done that once when she married Ed. She was ready to live, really live, with her losses and her wounds and her weaknesses.

She needed a man. Not even sexually, even though she found herself fiercely aroused from Daryl's unpretentious charm. Emotionally. It was sheer necessity for someone to be present for her, emotionally. Not Rick, not Maggie, not any other member of their rag tag family. There was always, always, an embrace open for her from any of them, whenever she needed to. But this just couldn't suffice anymore. Everyone else had somebody to care and look after before her. Maybe it was petty and selfish and a little shabby, but every blood cell springing inside her shrieked for the urge to be someone's special person on earth. Not that she wasn't important or even maybe a little special for Daryl. She was and she knew it, no doubt about that. She just wanted that other kind of special; like a woman, a mate.

She didn't need a sibling, a brother, or a sister. Never had one and Rick was more of a brother to her. She didn't even need to pretend she was Carl's or Jude's substitute mother. Her child had died, leaving a hole that couldn't be replaced. She needed a man. That was something she never had, a real man of honor to her side. Someone to lean over without him bolting in the woods for a week. Someone to carry her weight. Share. Not just silence and scars. Life. Prospect. Future. She needed Daryl. And Daryl she couldn't have.

Spending her leisure time watching Maggie and Glenn playfully tittering and teasing each other, she daydreamed and smiled absently with the devotion and mere adoration that radiated off them knowing that they'd willfully leap into a flaming fire for each other with no intention to survive if the one was perished. She wanted a Glenn, she had a Glenn. No, she had Daryl. He and she could never be another version of Glenn and Maggie. Too much history. Too many years, decades of abuse loomed their shadow over them. They had past that couldn't be annihilated, maybe not even subdued. No such grant as clean slates and blank checks was in store for either of them. But Daryl was her Glenn nevertheless. Imagining her life without him was next to inconceivable, dying for him was a blissful fantasy. And, lately, her urge to be someone's Maggie was towering deep in her chest day after day. Yeah, she wanted to be _his_ Maggie.

She would have waited for Daryl. Forever probably; she would. But he had made it crystal clear that there was no chance in hell for them to get together. He needed no woman next to him, he had said, the exact words still mincing her heart. But she did. She needed a man and she resented him just a little bit for shattering every hope lurking inside her so decisively. She resented him even more for the guilt blistering menacingly in her core, as if giving in to somebody else's flirtatious advances constituted some kind of betrayal to Daryl, as is she was the treacherous one here, playing with his feelings. She resented him vehemently that he didn't need her the same way she did. Because if she didn't resent him she'd lose the driving force to get off her bunk every morning.

The four stages of grief were past her. Denial; she refused to believe it was happening to her, that she was in love with somebody who just couldn't or wouldn't reciprocate her feelings. Again.

Anger; it wasn't fair. It appeared she had lived a long, loveless life, always falling for the wrong guy, the emotionally unavailable person. Not that Daryl bore any resemblance to Ed. But neither of them ever wanted her. Why was it happening to her again? Why was she desperate for somebody who didn't long for her? Why couldn't life just smile at her for once?

Bargaining; maybe it was her fault. Maybe she was doing everything wrong. So she had endeavored to take more care of her physical appearance, not that she was much to look at anyway. But she tried, be it a tank top that delineated her figure or some mascara every now and then that Maggie would pass her, she really tried her best to make her femininity explicit, mutely screaming to him that she was there and she was a woman and she yearned for him as a man and strived to look beautiful for him. It hadn't proved fruitful of course, not with Daryl.

Depression; sometimes, even now that she had grown stronger and valuable for the group, she found it difficult to keep forcing one foot in front of the other. Sometimes she just wished to reunite with Sophia sooner rather than later, just give up, especially under the foreboding veil of eternal loneliness. Sadness, regret, fear and uncertainty had become permanent tenants in her soul. It was that bitch, loneliness, she dreaded, not the walkers roaming around, not death. But whenever a beam of light cracked through her darkness, she'd stare at her reflection in the mirror with dim determination and inwardly chant that all these, _all_ these, were like a dress rehearsal for the aftermath, for the day she'd be ready to flip the page to the next chapter.

Acceptance; one day she'd be fine, she had reiterated loudly. Just fine. Daryl would always be her friend and, since nothing seemed enough to fight it, she might as well deal with it, cherish it and move on. That was not enough for her, though. Still not enough and in moments of gloomy self-consciousness and wrenching clarity she avowed herself that she was nowhere near acceptance. Simply aimlessly oscillating back and forth between depression and acceptance, all she did was grit her teeth to claw her way towards there.

Learning how to pick her fights was no walk in the park. She had deciphered it eventually, though. The hard way, as everything in her life seemed to be. The skirmish with Daryl couldn't be won. Over and over she had banged on his walls, never contriving to demolish his entrenched ivory tower. He couldn't be hers, didn't want to. But the battle with loneliness was far from done and dusted, she droned to herself. The equilibrium still hadn't tipped to the victorious side, it could still be her rejoicing jubilantly against the dim lady clinching her heart.

Her path was the craggy one. Blatant honesty. The moment Tyreese opened his cards and made his intentions plain, six months after the Woodbury survivors joined the prison group, she had told him everything about Daryl. That she was in love with him, probably irreversibly so. That she'd never consider another man's advances if she could have him. And she had cried. Listening to herself uttering these words of ultimate self-condemnation she had wept bitter tears of desperation. Because there was just a ruthless, pungent, final truth inside them.

Tyreese wasn't without luggage either. Having lost his wife and daughter from _them_ and being the one to put them down, it had taken only a few conversations to discern the thinly veiled sorrow under the façade of his friendly nature and broad smiles. He was still mourning them and Carol realized pretty fast that she would be to him exactly what he was meant to be to her. A surrogate. Both unable to conquer or maintain the grasp of their first option partner, they had reached rock bottom, contemplating on settling with the next best thing, the one available, in reach.

They had both taken their time to consider their options after that. Next time they talked, it was Carol that went to his cell, telling him she was willing to try. None of them knew exactly what that meant. It was vague and sometimes seemed plain stupid. But Tyreese replied that he was willing to try too. No strings attached from the beginning, just getting to know each other better, test the waters, fathom whether something more could blossom between them.

It had been a month since then and they hadn't done pretty much anything other than kissing a few times. Tyreese had initiated it, rather reluctantly, and she had barely kissed him back. They were bonding, though. Over their mutual pain, bereavement of beloved ones and solitude, they were growing together day after day. But he failed to make her heart jolt, failed to clamor her mind, failed to haunt her dreams, failed to mold butterflies in her stomach, failed to send her appetite for vacation, failed to make her shrivel with desire. Just failed. And she was perfectly aware of her corresponding fiasco to scrub off the memory of his wife. It was because the throne of their beloved ones wasn't in auction, seeking for an heir, it was already dwelled. She had her Glenn. And Tyreese had his Maggie, buried miles away. Not every spot could be superseded. Yet, they could cling to each other nevertheless.

The supply run was as good as any. Tyreese was driving and Carol occupied the passenger's seat with Carl behind them. The kid had tagged along despite Rick's protests and they were all a pinch extra nervous in case anything happened to him. Glenn's truck was following with Daryl adamantly settled behind the steering wheel, the Asian man and Maggie were the rest of the crew.

When Tyreese killed the engine, he and Carol shared a long look, fingers interlaced in a momentary squeeze as Carl muzzled his gun with the silencer. Their relationship had reached its pivotal point the night before and, for the first time in a while, they both knew exactly where they stood and what they shared. And it was a good, heartfelt emotion. Carol smiled up at him and he kissed the back of her hand, both of them receiving a murderous glare from Daryl who accessed their vehicle and went over their original plan with Tyreese.

Carol knew she was supposed to follow his lead when they split in two groups, but when Carl strayed away from them and snuck into a three store building she just couldn't leave him unsupervised. Waving to Tyreese, she followed hot on his heels, reassured that the black man would maintain the entrance clear from walkers so they wouldn't get trapped.

Once inside Carl frowned at her unsolicited presence behind him, only to receive a shooshing finger to his mouth and a nonchalant nod to keep going. They moved scrupulously, conveying hushed messages and directions, vigilant not to disturb whatever might lurk in the penumbra of the old paint store. Beams of the exterior daylight percolated inside the space through the crannies of the metallic shutters guiding their way, corpuscles of dust waltzing indolently between the illuminated spectrum, impervious to the invaders. Carol knew that all Carl wanted was to get a pink coloring material for one of the walls he shared with Judith and simply couldn't deny him this much. An occasional crick on the wooden boards beneath their meager steps was the only sound to wriggle the dead silence of ground floor.

What happened next was her fault, really. She only whipped her head for a split second to double check that Tyreese was still close enough in case they needed him, vaguely wondering where the others were, where Daryl was and if he had noticed they were stalled behind. It was inadvertent, but even after a month of permanent pairing with Tyreese in every excursion or watch duty and minimum, almost inexistent, interaction with Daryl apart from typicalities, it was still his proximity that managed to ignite a warming sense of security in her belly. The boy meandered away again and her fingers barely grazed his tee shirt, fumbling to snatch him back when he swiveled the basement's knob. Everything unraveled in fast forward after that. The door banged open and walkers gushed through the opening.

Carol instantly shoved Carl behind her, towering in front of him with the machete and gun in each hand as the boy stomped on his feet, landing hard on his back, her frame blocking his clear shot to the walkers rapidly spurting out.

"Carl, run!" she gasped at the sight of gory figures propagating in a quick pace.

He hardly procrastinated at all to scramble up and launch to the door but it was enough for Carol to get surrounded, forced in a haphazard retreat towards the staircase. Tyreese was inside by then, hustling Carl out of the store, in the comparative safety of the road, his hatchet proficiently bobbing up and down, decapitating as many walkers as possible.

It had swiftly escalated into a hand to hand combat as she kept backing up, despite their best efforts to unite and face the walkers together. Holstering the empty gun, Carol unsheathed her pocketknife and buried it in milky eye of a six foot walker snarling in her face, running the blade in right to the hilt, decaying blood splattering all over her face and neck and her stomach jolted with revulsion. Her knees buckled under his sapless weight, before she plucked the pocketknife and blundered shakily away from the collapsing form only to register a jaw gnarling mere inches from her left shoulder. The wheezing whistle of an arrow perforated the suffocating atmosphere, effectively squelching the disfigured skull to obliterate the imminent threat.

Carol puffed with relief, just the knowledge of Daryl being there was enough to sooth her. His shrieks joined Tyreese's but she found herself unable to respond to either of them, too preoccupied fighting for her life. It was getting clear that no matter how hard both of them strangled to reach her in time it would be of no avail. She heard Daryl screaming at her to run to the staircase and get to the rooftop and she complied immediately, sparing no more than a moment to cast a sidelong glance at him, her heart clenching at his distorted facial features and the intense gaze transfixed on her, before she scurried behind the corridor. As she mounted the stairs two at a time, Daryl's frantic lash out at Tyreese for letting her inside there alone covered the groans that followed her.

She sprinted to the third floor, muscles cramped and stiff from the abrupt exercise, only for her simmering blood to convert into ice when she realized that the narrow exit to the rooftop was barricaded with chains. Recalling the empty chamber of the handgun, she stormed in a tiny room next to her and slammed the door behind her to eschew the first clawing hands that emerged from the staircase. She sucked a few stabilizing breaths, flipped the lock and dragged a drawer to bolt it as securely as possible, before hurrying to the open window. Not that everything she did would buy her more than a couple of minutes at best, anyway. She was trapped, but the others had to leave her, they had to survive.

The gunshots had obviously attracted more walkers who were now zeroing in around the building. Maggie and Tyreese were still fighting them off, almost completely encircled, the girl calling out for Daryl who was nowhere to be seen.

Carol leaned over the window. "Go," she yelled. "Walkers are gathering."

"You have to jump." Tyreese's wary gaze met hers.

Contemplating his suggestion for a moment, Carol bit her lip. It was just too high. If she was lucky enough she'd die instantly. If not, she'd break most of her bones, probably crippling herself forever even if they miraculously succeeded to flee the place. But being a burden wasn't a state she was willing to get back to. "I'll get us all killed," she shook her head, shrugging.

"Where's Daryl?" Maggie croaked, desperately squinting at Carol.

"Daryl!" Carol's howl echoed through the walker-filled road. No response. Her heart sank.

Glenn's truck rounded the corner, wheels churning on the asphalt as he drove over walkers, maneuvering a bee orbit to barrel over as many as possible.

"Go," she pleaded. "You have to go. I'll be fine!"

Nobody believed her and she could hear the sobs in Maggie's voice as she kept calling for Daryl.

The door behind her vaulted, but Carol ignored it, her eyes scanning thoroughly for any sign of the hunter. "God," she gasped. "Did you find him?"

"We have to move," Glenn urged them, truck coming to a temporary halt next to Tyreese and Maggie.

"I'm sorry, Carol." Tyreese's broken apology shattered her heart.

"Don't be," she told him bravely. "Find Daryl."

"I love you," he said huskily.

"I love you, too," Carol offered back, swallowing the lump blistering in her throat. "All of you."

As Tyreese and Maggie jumped in the back of the truck, she registered Carl's tear-stained face staring at her, nose plastered against the elevated window of the back seat. "This wasn't your fault, honey," she shouted firmly, giving the boy an encouraging smile, eyes instantly skimming around. "Where's Daryl?"

Glenn locked gazes with her, terror and panic engraved all over his face. "We're coming back for you," he yelped determinedly, not a single doubt weakening his declaration as he jammed on the throttle. "Just hang in there!"

Carol shook her head, lips forming a mute no.

Maggie covered her mouth, tears rolling freely down her cheeks as the woman on the window waved at them. Her husband's loud swearing made her gut twist and she shuffled closer to Tyreese who snuggled her against his broad chest, barely withholding his own tears. As the truck accelerated, shoveling distance between them and the two members of their group abandoned behind, Carl's soft sniffles was the only thing jiggling the bleak silence among the maimed team who'd make it back to the solid walls of the prison.

And then they were gone. And she was alone. Completely alone. Probably the only living soul in miles. The silence was deafening, her only company the greedy groans behind the banging door.

_Daryl_. Where was Daryl? What had happened to him? What if he was lying somewhere, hurt and helpless and alone? Surely something terrible had occurred, otherwise he'd have never deserted them like that. Carol kicked the drawer against the door and slouched heavily on the floor, crying helplessly as powerlessness took the better of her. Tyreese and the others were safe, but Daryl wasn't. The one time he might have needed her help she was snared in the confined space of a filthy room, waiting to die. He was her Glenn and she wasn't at his side.

"Carol!"

The sound of her name shattered the encompassing haze. The voice was gruff and familiar, the voice she thought she'd never hear again, the voice that never failed to make her heart flutter.

"Daryl?"

That's exactly what was happening right now, once again. It was frantically pounding against her chest as she rushed to the window. Her head swirled upwards when she detected absolutely no sign of him on the street beneath and a real smile blossomed in her lips when she saw him bent over the edge of the rooftop.

"You're alive!" she exclaimed unable to conceal her ebullience and received a crooked smirk. It was feigned, but still…

He was out of breath, sweaty and scared, brow creased in grave concern. But he was there. He was always there, whenever she needed him, a deus ex machina, always present to reverse the impending disaster, to trigger an alternative outcome due to sheer desire.

"How long do you have?" He did his best to sound calm and in control, like he was the master of the situation, but he knew by the sound of the banging door that she didn't have much. Neither of them did. Walkers would burst in the room any moment now.

Carol glanced up at him, biting her lip. "Seconds," she admitted.

"Fuck," he cussed under his breath. If only they had a few more minutes for him to conjure up with something better, to make sure she got out of there unscathed and unimpaired. Every time, every single fuckin' time Carol was in danger time rapped surreally rapidly just to mock him.

He adjusted himself the best he could, hovering over outside the edge as much as humanly possible. "Step on the ledge," he ordered dryly. "I'll pull you up."

Her eyes went wide, gawking at him incredulously like he had lost his mind. "I'm not Lara Croft, Daryl. You can't-"

"Sure I can," he cut her off mid-sentenced, jaw set and voice harsh. "You weigh nothing. Now, get your ass moving."

Carol grabbed a chair and started climbing her way up. "Did I ever mention my acrophobia?" she muttered half-jokingly half seriously, one foot already on the sill as she tested the window frames to steady her posture.

"Your acrophobia, your claustrophobia, your arachnophobia…" He snorted a humorless laugh, but kept the banter going anyway, not having a clue how the fuck he'd get her out of there and desperate to distract her from the fifteen feet of vacuum over which she was about to vacillate. "You're a fuckin' apocalyptic catch, ain't you?"

"I don't have arachnophobia," Carol mumbled, both feet on the sill now. "They are just disgusting." She swallowed hard; next step was to twist her body and face the room behind her full front. "The-the door was chained and I was out of bullets."

"Don't worry about it now," he said with ostensible composure, painfully gnashing at the inside of his cheek until the metallic taste of blood inundated his mouth. No fuckin' way he was losing her today, not like this. "You can do that."

She turned around slowly, ignoring the queasiness and the spinning surroundings. Her hands left the windows, palpating the inner side of the frame. Holding her breath, she stooped a few inches and leaned backwards carefully, calculating her moves, the grip on the frame almost painful. When she opened her eyes again, a chill breeze caressed her, hurling sparks down her spine and her skin crawled. Suddenly exposed, she felt rather than registered the height.

"Daryl-" A whimper, a need for reassurance as her gaze flicked on the walkers in the street beneath and her knees vibrated.

He hadn't breathed the entire time she was perfecting her posture, too afraid of startling her. "Don't look down, goddammit," he hissed, a wave of relief whooshing over his raving mind when she squinted up at him again. "Here, see?" The pads of his fingers could almost brush against her forehead now. Almost. He was too damn close for her to die. "We're close. I'll get you."

There was panic in his eyes, unnerving panic, but there was also obstinacy, grim determination twinkling inside them. Every muscle in his face was tensed, biceps flexing as he stretched to reach her. She felt the urge to tell him she loved him, just in case that was her last chance, but Daryl wasn't fond of camouflaged goodbyes. He hadn't left her, he had stayed behind for her, he was fighting tooth and nail to save her. So she had to push forward, try her damnedest to make his efforts worthwhile. "I trust you," she said matter-of-factly and watched his nostrils flare.

Daryl blinked. Blinked away his fears and insecurities, blinked away her chalky white color. One shot. Failure wasn't an option. There was no safety net beneath her. No room for uncertain movements. And he could swear a hinge had just dismantled under the ferocity of the walker siege. Fresh beads of sweat formed on his forehead and he tucked a few unruly strands of his greasy hair behind his ear. No leeway for debate. He couldn't afford letting her down, not this time.

"You ain't falling," he stated confidently. "Gimme your hand."

She nodded, face pressed against the bricks. Loosening her right hand, she felt her arm float momentarily before she jerked it up. He snagged it instantly, just below the elbow and felt dainty fingers curl around his in response.

It was a stark contrast, their skin. Brownish tan against freckled paleness, scorching lava against frigid ice, coarseness against delicacy. But as their nails dug inside each other there was also harmony. Blind faith. Ultimate sacrifice. Absolute fit, like parts of the same jigsaw. Tilting her head to lock eyes with him, she felt safe despite her dire predicament. They were clutching together like a lifeline. And when she smirked shyly, a twitching smile ghosted his parched lips.

"See? I got you," he grunted, breathing raggedly.

Carol yelped when the hinges were ripped off with a resounding boom under their assailants' brunt and the door bounced on the drawer before thudding onto the floor, but she didn't even cast a glance towards them, peering persistently over her, straight into the blue, turbulent ocean of his gaze.

They were inside, he knew. "Ready?" he rasped, receiving a sharp nod. "Now!"

She squealed when her feet flew off the solid ledge, just a split second before his hand grappled around her other arm like a hook. Hanging over nothing, engulfed by mere airy void, all she could see were walkers. Walkers galloping their way to her, walkers crowding in the street, gory claws, gluttonous teeth drooling rotten slime. Walkers everywhere. Walkers and void twirling around override as she swung aimlessly, light-headed and disconcerted. She was hyperventilating, suddenly heavy-lidded, legs flailing laxly over what resembled to a sinister abyss.

"Look at me!" The stern command pierced through her dizziness.

And Daryl. And Daryl, of course. There wasn't just walkers and void. Daryl was there as well. Always there.

Her head snapped, enchanted by a darkened gaze pleading her to focus, willing her to live. Mustering all her mettle to utter an encouraging word, her voice clogged in her throat, morphing into an astounded scream as a shriveled limb pawed her boot and frazzled nails scrapped the leather. Her body squirmed and she was brutally stretched, figure elongated painfully, fleshes ripe to tear apart, as if she was ensnared in a procrustean iron bed. Groans. She howled, oblivious to the tears streaming down her face when she arched between the two different contenders staking a claim on her.

"Look at me," he roared, knuckles turning white. "I got you."

His thunderous outcries reached her again, probing her back to action. Her jaw clenched and her free leg thrust with unbeknownst execration and violence smacking the walker's head, effectively releasing herself from its grasp. But she ricocheted too fiercely, Daryl's unyielding hold faltering as salty droplets wormed under his left hand.

So many countervailing forces vying for dominance over her. Her weight, plummeting her to a brutal collision with the ground, surrendered to gravity. The wrinkled hands, crammed in the narrow window, lunging to pull her back inside, in a demise that dictated her being devoured alive. And then Daryl. Always Daryl. Fighting against the odds, fighting with everything he had to keep her alive, face crimson from otherworldly exertion to drag her away from the gaping window and haul her up simultaneously.

Carol met his eyes again, despair and denial flooding them like tidal waves. But her hand kept slipping, gliding off his sweaty arm, heedless to his verbal commands to stay put. She had lost sensation of her arms a while ago, her right shoulder could have dislocated for all she knew as she slanted to the left. Shaking her head, she offered a weak smile.

He glowered down on her, steeling the clutch that hadn't inched around her right forearm. "Don't you dare," he maundered, two slender veins throbbing erratically across his temples.

"Just let me go," she breathed.

He seethed, shuddering head to toe, unleashed tears dripping. "Ain't no way in hell."

"Daryl-" she gasped, chin trembling, only the fingertips clasping together now.

"I got you," he drawled.

She never broke eye contact as their grip swayed and her left arm dropped numb by her side. "I lov-"

A primal screech soared in the air, cloaking her voice. "No!"

_To be continued…_

"_There is a loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of a clock" ― __Charles Bukowski__, __Love is a Dog from Hell_

* * *

_**I'm ashamed to admit that I desperately need your help and feedback to finish this one :( Totally suffering from writer's block. Please don't hate, I'm not being sadistic.**_

_**Thank you all for reading :) A review would make me happy.**_


	37. Another Man (Part II)

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**This had been an emotionally draining chapter, but the result has left me satisfied which is very rare. Hope you like it too :)**_

_**BEFORE you read this chapter, please, please, please read Part I again. I tried to make everything click together and you have to let me know if I succeeded.**_

_**My apologies for not answering back to your amazing reviews but I bet you'd rather get Part II than a pm *wink wink* I'll get to you, I promise! Thank you all for reading and taking the time to leave me a review :)**_

_**Peta2 is not just an awesome beta who always protects your eyes from my stupid errors. She's also an amazing writer and if you haven't caught up with her stories yet… well, hurry!**_

_**The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

_The night before the run_

_Daryl cringed, inhaling sharply when Tyreese's slow gait approached the guard tower. Descending groggily the stairs to take over the first night shift, he had taken a glimpse of him entering Carol's cell and by the way she was propped up on her cot with legs crossed it was pretty obvious she had been waiting for him despite the late hour. _

_He had given up hating him a long time ago. Nothing to hate about the guy. He was a decent man, a dauntless fighter, an ever contributing to the general well-being person and, as much as he'd like to refute it, both Tyreese and his sister had proven themselves to be valuable assets for their survival. And Carol's lover. He also was Carol's lover, or so Daryl thought, tossing and turning through his restless nights._

_The more time flowed the more his hostility evaporated. It was difficult, despite his best efforts, to keep a justified grudge against Tyreese. Even more to hold him accountable for his own mistakes and heedless actions, or lack thereof. Tyreese deserved Carol and Carol deserved Tyreese. There was no poison slithering in his veins for the black man anymore; every venomous pang had made a u-turn, pointing directly back at himself. He had made choices and it was beyond due time to pay the fine, only he had come to realize how high the price really was._

_His visitor offered a tight-lipped smile when he joined him on the perch and Daryl nodded in acknowledgement. It was rare for Tyreese to remain silent, being easily the most talkative male among them, along with Glenn, yet never indiscreet, or annoying, or a hands down windbag as Daryl had briefly dismissed him in the beginning. He was gallant and eloquent, good-hearted and altruistic, with gentle manners and obliging nature that didn't confine only to the female population of the prison, but extended generously to each one of them._

_Tyreese was everything Daryl wasn't and right now had everything he didn't. Never did and never would since he tossed aside his unique opportunity._

_But taciturn and introverted he wasn't._

_Daryl stared at his hunched shoulders prudently with his back shored up against the wall as he leaned over the railing. He felt like a colossal jerk hoping that the guy hadn't simply chimed in for an after sex smoke and some man talk. _

"_Did you ever have a wife? Children?" Tyreese broke the loaded silence between them, feeling the hunter's eyes digging holes in his frame, voice blunt._

_Daryl shook his head, grunting his denial._

"_I had," he went on in the same tone. "I had a family."_

_Arresting himself intrigued by the topic was the last twist he expected. Bits and parts of Tyreese's story had reached his ears, of course. Prison was too crowded and shameless gossip always babbled around, even for a loner vagabond like himself. No matter how hard he'd plug his ears, a bunch of busybodies was almost permanently around, jibber-jabbering, purposelessly sticking their nosy asses into other people's private affairs. Daryl loathed that._

_But this was different. Even though it was pretty evident to everyone that he'd suck at playing the shrink, he was mysteriously lured by this man, greedy to ration him out, interpret him, read between his lines. It was a masochistic instinct that had never blistered in his gut before for another guy, simply because it violated one of the most fundamental principles that steered his life; not caring. It was Carol's fault. Once she cracked his shell, the Pandora's Box had opened and all hell broke loose. He couldn't resist it now and he knew why Tyreese was such a fascinating creature to him. He was hers. He was her man. He was what Daryl had stridently failed to be._

_No amount of self-castigation sufficed to rivet him from stepping closer with two long strides and imitate his stance. "Lost them from the geeks?" His throaty question surprised him more than his interlocutor, but it was out there now, no way to take it back. And weirdly enough, he didn't even intend to._

_Tyreese heaved a sigh, taking his time to respond. "My wife first," he said finally, swallowing hard. "Then my daughter."_

_He was still intrigued, but couldn't muster the nerve to coax information. Sliding his hand in the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He flipped it open, tucking one between his lips and motioned the pack to his partner who didn't reject the offer. Two tangerine snuffs were briskly fluttering in the pitch black bleakness of the chilly night._

_Taking a drag of his tobacco, Tyreese slowly exhaled the smoke through his nostrils. "That's what connects me with Carol," he muttered, gaze darting to the dark horizon ahead of them. "The grief."_

_Daryl cocked his head, eyeing him through a slit. Rage stirred in his intestines at the raw declaration, but simmered down before erupting, regardless of his will. "Carol's had enough shit in her life," he grumbled dryly. "Don't go unloading yours on her."_

_Tyreese's head snapped and the two of them locked gazes, sharing a hard look. "'Cause that's your job, right?" No tinge of sarcasm or enmity in his voice. Just drizzling bitterness._

_Daryl's face twitched but he stayed put, never averting his eyes from him, fingers balled around the metallic bar as the filter dampened in his mouth._

"_I know you think no one knows her better than you," Tyreese droned after a while. "You're probably right. But it hasn't exactly worked out for her."_

_He hated that he was forced to bow his head first under the intensity of Tyreese's punctuating look. This conversation had backfired. Instead of fathoming the Tyreese riddle, Daryl stood naked and exposed before him, unraveled pathetically like a broken maze, idly wondering why the fuck his defense mechanisms had lagged and he was still lingering there, listening to this stranger reverently and mutely instead of sending him to hell on an accelerated basis. It was hurtful and crude the truth that he spoke, a pain running just too deep. But it was also the lack of spleen and offense behind it that pinned him on the spot. Chucking the drained cigarette over the wedge, he swiftly lit a second one._

_Tyreese followed his lead, undeterred by his silence and downcast eyes. Tipping the filter on the railing a few times before finally bringing it to his mouth, he snorted a humorless laugh. "And yet, there you are, ready to smash my face in case I hurt her."_

_That he was done talking Daryl knew it for a while now. He wasn't done hearing, though, surprisingly so. Gritting his teeth, he inspected the cigarette in his fingers as if it was an exotic bird he had never witnessed before, watching the smoke spiral before it diffused and evanesced altogether. He had trouble breathing, but stubbornly refused to choke up._

"_I got married out of love, you know," Tyreese inhaled deeply the smoke once again. "I fell in love with her the first day I met her and never stopped until I lost her." He squinted at Daryl who was now gnashing at his thumbnail. "That's the only reason people should get together. Maybe they come closer from sorrow or a common past, but at the end of the day this isn't what couples are made of. You can care, even love. But it's being in love that makes the difference." _

_His hammering heart was now drumming in his ears. Love. Being in love. How was he supposed to know these feelings, let alone the alterations between them? He had no past experience or even a remote parallel he could relate with to identify them. He knew pain and loneliness and that pretty much summed up all his emotional stock. Maybe he had also acquainted with friendship somewhere along the way, being friends with most members of his group, calling them family. But love? Or being in love? He'd parrot that Rick and Hershel loved their children or that Maggie and Glenn were in love, but for Daryl these emotions were bizarre, simply because he couldn't put his finger on them._

"_There are people around here who love each other, who are in love with each other," Tyreese drawled pointedly. "Someone's Maggie and someone's Glenn, as Carol says."_

_Daryl tilted his head, regarding him quizzically. He had never heard Carol say that and was clueless about the underlying meanings Carol infused to her musings. God, how long had it been since the last time he had talked to Carol, really talked to her? He cleared his throat, but the knot blocking his airway refused to obliterate. Maybe since that night, ironically identical to this one, when she had asked him if there was any chance for them to become more than friends. Over a month ago. Before her intimate relationship with Tyreese started. More than friends… Like, in love? He hadn't even asked, scared shitless as he was. _

_Carol. His brow etched. As if avoiding her like the plague had made any difference. As if he had contrived how to stanch her from mercilessly plowing his mind. As if his torment wasn't never-ending. As if evicting the raking thoughts of how wrongly he had behaved that night had launched him into a happy place. What was he thinking being terrified of her? Carol wasn't his old man. Carol wasn't Merle. Carol was Carol. Carol would never hurt him. Carol, who had hung her head and never bothered him again._

_Tyreese put out his cigarette and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I'm not your foe, Daryl. You do that yourself."_

_And with that, he was gone._

* * *

Daryl had stayed on the lookout when Maggie and Glenn snuck into a store, just a few blocks down the road from the others. It was to shield his eyes in case the two of them decided to go at it like rabbits, he had chanted to himself, instantly remorseful for the injustice the mental accusation did to his companions. Truth was his gaze flicked nonstop to Tyreese and the way he quietly fought off random walkers, keeping the entrance of the store Carol and Carl had disappeared behind clear without attracting unwarranted attention. Damn woman hadn't even let him know she was heading there; if not for always keeping a set of eyes on the back of his head for her, he'd just turn around at some point to find half of their group missing. They were initially taken aback by how active walkers in the village they were looting for the first time were, but decided to go for it anyway. They were six of them, Carl's shooting skills included, they could handle themselves.

Jumping out of his skin when he registered gunshots and watched the black man storm inside the building, he had burst into running towards them yelling at Glenn and Maggie to follow him. His heart vaulted as he crossed paths with a whimpering Carl fleeing the place before kicking the door open, only to detect a hopelessly trapped Carol in the back of the store. Firing his crossbow on pure instinct he barely catapulted an arrow through the head of a walker before his putrefying teeth could dig into her shoulder. Despite fighting back to back with Tyreese, though, they both realized pretty soon that they'd never reach her in time. At least she heeded his command to get to the rooftop immediately, without further debate.

The shitstorm of pent-up rage he unleashed on Tyreese was unprecedented before taking it upon himself to fetch her back alive. Maggie was dispatching walkers on the road assisted by Carl and his peripheral view caught Glenn sprinting to the vehicles with Carl swiftly on his tail as he rounded the corner and rushed into the adjacent building. Not bothering to kill any walkers unless absolutely necessary, he weaved his way among their drooling, insatiable maws, climbing the stairs with the dexterity of a quadruped carnivore, eyes narrowed and lethal. He was in the rooftop in zero time and devolved his pace into a labored trot till he reached the edge, scrutinizing the rooftop in the other end of the alley for Carol.

Panting, he cussed loudly when he heard her from the window of the third floor. Muffled voices, Tyreese pleading something, Maggie crying out his name, but he hadn't got enough air inside him to answer back. Not granted the luxury to sleep on his next move, he offhandedly evaluated the distance between the two rooftops and just went for it, leaping almost blindly. Groans, sounds, snarls, reassurances, pleas, the squeaky sliding of tires mingling with the buzzing in his ears, reverberating inside his head as he landed mere inches inside the edge of the concrete surface. He winced at the heartfelt exchange of 'I love you' between Carol and Tyreese and focused on his clomping gait as he dredged a rope from his backpack, knotting one end of it deftly around a pillar and pulling it tight towards the edge. Carol prompting the others to look for him, Glenn's promise to return and the fading hum of the truck's engine. By the time he secured the rope around his boot, they were left alone.

* * *

"Carol!" Daryl groaned at her reluctance to cooperate, eyes blazing. He was still holding her, damn it. Even if he had lost his grip on her left arm, he was still clutching her right one and was adamant to crack her bone if that was what it took to hamper her free fall.

Carol cast a sidelong glance at the walkers stuck in the window. He had dragged her away from the opening after all, keeping her out of their reach. "I don't think I can," she whispered, barely audibly.

"Don't you dare," he growled. "Don't you dare let go."

She was tempted. At the end of the dive wasn't just the sentient entity of the Grim Reaper lurking, clothed in a black-hooded cloak, waving his scythe. There was also Sophia's cheeky smile, Sophia's blonde hair, Sophia's love anticipating for a reunion with hers. And on the top of her, was Daryl, the anchor hobbling her to life with his red-rimmed eyes. But he would never manage to tug her up without some assistance from her part, not if she just loosened the fingers plunged into his flesh.

"I. Got. You," he drawled through gritted teeth, certain beyond doubt than the joints of his jaw were bound to crack any moment now.

She was tempted, at least. For a moment.

Because, once that moment dissipated, her left arm yanked up again and his fingers clasped around it. Pressing her eyelids sealed the entire time her sapless body was chafed against the seedy, brick exterior of the building, Carol wriggled out a gasp of horror when their hold faltered again only for it to morph into a guttural sough of relief as a steel vice clamped around her and her knees grazed on solid concrete.

It had debilitated him from everything he had, hauling her up. Every muscle, even the tiniest one, was recruited in the vanguard of the clash to cling to Carol. He deluded himself that buoyancy scuffled in his side against gravity. He visualized Merle groaning next to him, intertwining his superb physical strength with his. He summoned every single grain of volition and courage to annihilate the laws of physics. And he finally invoked his notorious badassery to prevent himself from mewling his alleviation like a pussy when she slumped in his arms, sobbing violently on the crook of his neck, hands fisting the hem of his shirt.

Daryl let her release everything out of her system. Hell, he even hugged her, shoddily rubbing soothing circles on her back while her breakdown unwound crescendo-like, peaked and finally ebbed away, idly aware that his own chest was still bobbing up and down and his mind had yet to catch up with a hyperactive body. It struck him that he was the one to squeeze her tighter when she moved to pull away. His eyes stung the entire time it took to clean her blood-stained face and give her a once-over, groping her pants for bites and scratches as she kept shuddering.

"You're alive," she whispered hoarsely, patting his chest before scouting back. "I thought you were dead."

Daryl inspected her leaning heavily against the pillar from where the rope was still swinging slack. Her eyes were closed and legs crossed as he whipped his knife out of its holster and nipped the knot around his boot. "Of course I'm alive," he sulked, sprawling on the rooftop in front of her, back flush on the ground. "You're the one who almost died. Again."

"Are you mad?" It was supposed to be a joke, but no playfulness colored her tone.

"For trying to get yourself killed?" he huffed, running a worn hand across his face, unable to peel his gaze off her hermetically shut eyes. His breathing hadn't stabilized yet and he could tell neither had hers, although her natural paleness was replenishing the grey-tinged hue her skin had when he first tugged her close. "More like used to it."

Carol's lips quirked upwards in a feigned smirk and she glanced at him tentatively, lassitude glistening in her hollow gaze. "I'm down to how many right now?"

"Four," he grumbled sullenly.

"That's getting tricky," she chuckled. "Remember when they used to be nine? Those were the days…"

"It ain't fuckin' funny, you damn idiot," he bit out, shooting her a murderous look before averting his gaze. "I'm tying you up to your bunk first thing when we get to the prison."

They both fell silent for hours after that, too spent to banter or argue. There would be hush encompassing them and utter stillness if not for the groans beneath them. The sun immersed slowly in the west as if it was descending a ladder, sputtering like a dying out fire and hurling a cozy twilight to enhance the smooth outline of their figures. They stared at it, not exchanging a word as nightfall progressively crept in. A glowing full moon lit in the sky, flickering twinkles of warmth in the irises of the two survivors.

Fingertips ghosted on his arm, so imperceptibly Daryl wasn't sure if the touch was real or a deceitful hallucination of his mind until he flicked his eyes there to register her delicate hand only for a moment before she withdrew it.

"Thank you," Carol said softly, always looking at the abundance of stars, sparkling like Christmas ornaments on the royal blue sky.

He said nothing in response, transfixed by the way she was glowing under the moonlight, radiating a melancholic serenity. Too many bottled up confessions clawed up his throat and tided away on the tip of his tongue. He had saved her, after all. He had put his neck out there for her. And she wasn't even his. Tomorrow he'd have to hand this woman back to her man and his reward would be a vague gratitude, materialized into nothing tangible. Because when she had asked to be more than friends he was too fuckin' quick to reply that he needed no woman by his side.

It sounded absurd now, his answer. Everything he had done for her made no sense under that prism. Deep down he confided he hadn't even done it for her. He had done it for himself, because life resembled something inconceivable without Carol. They had ceased to be friends a long time ago and he knew it now. Despite not having a clue what being in love entailed, he was startled at the dawning realization that it couldn't mean more than being ripe to die for a person. Too little, too late, as his knowledge always seemed to come. He sucked in a shaky breath that failed to invigorate his howling mind. The oxygen filtered like viperous flecks, scorching his lungs and he lifted on his elbows to get rid of the smothering rock trampling his chest.

The temperature had dropped significantly and he saw her wrapping her arms tightly around her torso. He could hug her, share his heat to stave the coldness off. His body was always like a furnace, too hiked and integrated to the natural shifts of the wilderness. Only he didn't know how to shuffle closer to a woman who didn't belong to him.

"We're stuck here for the night," he rasped, reaching for his backpack before offering her a flask of liquor. "Take a swig of that. It'll keep you warm."

Carol met his gaze and nodded, not even attempting to mask the sorrow that bleared her vision. She had told him she loved him when she thought she was falling. He hadn't heard, she knew, and maybe it was better this way. Save them both from the embarrassment and all. More times than she could count she had humiliated herself. And he didn't deserve it, either. This was her suffering, not his. She gagged as the first sip of alcohol burnt her innards. The second was better, dripping into her stomach effortlessly.

She was eyeing him intently with a grim expression spread on her face and Daryl thought he comprehended it. "Don't worry," he said quietly. "You'll get back to him."

Carol hoisted the tin container over her mouth again and sighed, looking away. The comfort he was offering was redundant and he had no idea, neither for what was truly wrenching her gut nor for last night's events.

"Then you can go on with all your lovey-dovey stuff," he muttered, fingers fiddling with a hole in his trousers. Damn he was jealous. He was envious, a shameless loather. And had no right to be. On the contrary, he was the last person roaming on earth that could raise an objection. Repercussions were knocking his door, though, and he owed her nothing short of honesty, certainly when it came down to assessing her choices. She had done well, picking Tyreese. The rest didn't matter. _He_ didn't matter. He would be just someone willing to die for her, _in_ _love_ with her, living in the shade. He could do that. And even if he couldn't, he would, because she'd always need someone to jump between her and her death wish. He could never stray too far away.

"He's a good guy," he admitted begrudgingly, chewing his lower lip.

Carol inspected cautiously his awkward fidgeting. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear he was jealous. Ignorance would be bliss. "Thought you didn't like him," she said guardedly, placing the flask on the ground close to him and Daryl grabbed it immediately, gulping down half of the remaining liquid.

He _didn't_ like him. He didn't like that Tyreese touched her and kissed her and slept with her while he was brewing with suppressed rage and suffocating desire.

"I don't," he shrugged sweeping his mouth with the back of his hand, voice low and gruff. "But he's ok."

"Tyreese is a remarkable man," Carol emphasized and Daryl closed his eyes, heaving shakily.

Suddenly he wanted to cry, whine like a baby, avow his mistake, beg for forgiveness. How many times would that be, screwing all over her life? He had the nerve to accuse Tyreese of unloading his shit on her and had received an achingly honest answer. That had always been his job, not Tyreese's.

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes as he refused to look at her and she allowed them to roll down her cheeks and neck, not even bothering to wipe them away, defeated. "We-we're not together," she stuttered.

His head snapped up at the blatant declaration and he saw her staring right back at him. "How come?" he blurted impulsively, heart skipping a beat.

Carol smiled bitterly. "You don't choose who you fall in love with," she croaked contemplatively. "Can't choose your Maggie. Can't choose your Glenn. You just find them. Or not-" Her voice trailed off.

"He broke up with you?" He resented him now even more than before. Hated him for hurting her. But she shook her head and a lump swelled in his throat.

"It was a mutual decision," she explained between sniffles. "He came to my cell last night and we talked it over. We chose the high road. Neither of us wanted to settle with someone who cared like sibling."

Daryl was on his feet in a flash of an instant, nervously pacing back and forth in an attempt to tamper down his exploding expectations.

"We didn't even have sex. Can you believe my bad luck?" she laughed humorlessly, the fake smile she plastered turning into a grimace. "My imaginary vibrator remains my only hope for a real orgasm."

"That's why he left you here for dead," he mumbled, more to himself than to her, dodging her biting remark.

"Why not? I'm not his Maggie," she said confused, narrowed eyes following his regressive orbit.

"Will somebody explain to me what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he yelled, coming to a standstill right in front of her.

She tilted her head and eyed his fuming face incredulously, forehead creased. "I'm not for him what Maggie is for Glenn," she floundered hastily, wriggling her fingers together as her voice choked into a sob. "We fight for each other desperately, but when someone is lost we leave him behind. He wouldn't die for me and I wouldn't die for him, not like Glenn and Maggie would die for each other and-"

"Get up," he ordered sternly, cutting her off mid-sentenced. The subtext in Tyreese's speech acquired a whole new meaning with this information and his heart was throbbing as he strived to interpret it correctly, the wheels in his head swirling overtime. He was panting when she dragged herself off the cement and stood mere inches away from his face, stifling her sobs. "Go on."

"Tyreese had his Maggie and lost her. And I found my Glenn a long time ago. I'd only die for-" she restrained herself abruptly, before spitting out unsought truths. "Anyway, I'm just not his Maggie."

Last night. Last night Tyreese had come to him _after_ he'd left her cell. He wasn't telling him that he was in love with Carol. He was telling him that he wasn't. That he loved her in a brother and sister way. That's the reason his last sentence made no sense no matter how hard Daryl mulled it over and over. He was dubbing him her Glenn.

"Don't cry," he demanded resolutely.

Carol complied, finally brushing her eyes. She had just started articulating a muffled apology when his lips crashed against hers.

He didn't know how he manned up and brought himself to do that, just lunged at her. Maybe it was Merle leering for the balls his little brother missed from the corner of the rooftop. Maybe it was because he had no words to express himself and elucidate the situation. Maybe it was just the only reaction compatible with his feelings, one that came with great delay. Maybe life was too damn short for repentance, second chances, unuttered confessions and muzzled declarations in the middle of a walker apocalypse; hell, he could have lost her a thousand times since he'd first met her. Maybe there was no room for fear and bickering anymore.

But she stiffened when he cupped her face and kissed her brutally and soon enough her feebly resisting hands were on his chest, shoving him away. He gawked at her, hurt and devastated as he stumbled backwards.

"Don't," she gasped solemnly, almost offended, squaring her shoulders. "I don't want your pity."

Pity? Daryl winced, vibrating heatedly head to toe. "What's wrong with you?" he ranted, kicking the pillar. "Are you fuckin' crazy or something?" He was screaming now, pounding his chest. "_I_ stayed. _I_ pulled you up. _I_ fought for you. You think it was out of pity?"

Carol was dumbfounded, standing speechless with jaw agape as he walked away cursing. Just for a second before chasing after him. When she reached out and he spun around, yanking her hand away, she closed the distance between them again, locked her arms around his neck and clung to him, enduring his efforts to squirm and push her away.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered, kissing the spot beneath his ear, mesmerized by the masculine scent oozing from the pores of his coarse skin. It was earth, sweat, dirt and dried blood. It was safety, protection, selfishness and sacrifice. It was Daryl.

He didn't flinch at the proximity and, as his ragged breaths subsided, he gradually relaxed in her embrace, wrapping his arms around her waist to snuggle her even closer, impervious that his stamina could snap her like a twig. "I stayed, you dumbass," he maundered grouchily, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

Carol drew back after a while, stroking her nose against his as they exhaled heavily in each other's mouth. His lower lip went pliant when she nibbled it, before gliding a hot tongue to meet his. This time the kiss was explorative and profound as he reciprocated ardently, conforming to her lead that dictated a slower pace to savor the sensation for a while before escalating. Lips flexing fluidly and tongues waltzing in sync, enticed in a passionate dance.

"I'm your Maggie," she grinned between moans of delight, beaming.

"Quit this shit about Maggie," Daryl grumbled, his stubble tickling the corner of her mouth as she shunted a few unruly strands away from his half-opened eyes. "You're Carol."

"Your Carol?" she breathed, melting into a spineless heap of sinews when he trailed a moist path across her jaw line.

"Do you see anyone else around?" he chortled before greedily assaulting her mouth again, claiming dominance for himself.

Horns blared loudly from both sides of the road with the first daylight. Tyreese and Karen decoyed the walkers littering the ground away and the rest of the group cleared the building. Rick smirked, raising a brow at the sight of the two bashfully flustered faces and Maggie nudged Glenn in the ribs to stop staring. A very scorned Daryl passed them by, dragging a gleeful Carol behind him, fingers curled around her wrist as he grunted that it was about fuckin' time they showed up.

_The End_

"_I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it. My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being." ― __Emily Brontë__, __Wuthering Heights_

* * *

_**After three sleepless nights, four trains, two planes and tons of stress, that was it! Now I know I'm crazy… Send me you love and best wishes! Did you get worried? Anxious? Overwhelmed? Happy? Disappointed? Please let me know. I struggled so much to get this chapter out…Tip: People stare when you write and frown and growl and then smile at your laptop waiting to board, LOL!**_

_**Of course she's his Carol… What a question! Ugh… so many Caryl feels! I have to admit, the Daryl/Tyreese scene may be one of my favorites ever! It's the very first time I felt I did justice to this awesome character.**_

_**Finally, a question: would you be interested in a story without happy ending? With a death or the two of them not ending up together or getting severely tortured?**_

_**Till next time…**_

_**P.S. All the credits for the Lara Croft line of the previous chapter go to Pat83. Yeah, I wish I had thought about it first! And you are so special to me, my dear :)**_


	38. Where You Are

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**I'm blown away with the love that last story received :) Thank you all soooooooo much! Reading your amazing comments really makes my day!**_

_**This one had to be posted today as a birthday present to **__**dark-hatake**__**. Happy Birthday, sweetie! Hope you like it! It's a story of anguish and drama, as you requested :)**_

_**Massive applaud to Peta2, my ff guardian angel!**_

_**The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended.**_

* * *

"I'm gonna leave you alone."

The offer was begrudged but mustering the nerve to force his presence there was beyond his abilities. Even these words clogged in his throat and came out strained, voice husky as his eyes raked over her face. Clammed up and breathing unevenly herself, Carol seemed alarmingly spaced out standing dead still in the middle of the room. A fleeting twitch in her arm and he vacillated on the spot, musing that she'd lash out a hand to prevent him from walking away. She didn't.

Stumbling down the staircase, Daryl sprawled all over an armchair next to the living room window, deluding himself that he was scanning the walkers hobbling aimlessly down the road through the shutter slats. In reality, all he did was skimming glances between the cuckoo clock ticking indolent seconds in a world where time bore no significance and his hyperactive hands, balling and unfurling restlessly as he counted the frivolous raps. He was convinced beyond any doubt that the intervals between every passing second dwindled and time slacked in a slow motion pace just to mock him, just because he was stuck there, a floor beneath Carol, saturated in agitation.

Bottles of liquor were stashed scrupulously beneath the tv cabinet and the temptation to blindly gulp down the intoxicating content until he'd drunk himself senseless stirred and vaulted in his gut. But he couldn't afford numbing his mind, as enticing as it might appear, he couldn't afford the repercussions. He had no idea where he stood, where they both stood right now. Everything depended on her; he was just a nosy bystander, not supposed to be here in the first place. He had jumped behind the steering wheel of the truck moments before Carol could settle in the driver's seat and none of them had commented when he started up the engine. He cracked his knuckles and launched on his feet, a heavy-footed trudge leading him in the dimly-lit staircase to hearken for even the remotest sound soaring in the air with bated breath. Nothing. Only the hammering drum of his heart beat wriggled the utter stillness of the bleak atmosphere.

Why had he exited that fuckin' room? Every single labored stride shoveling distance between them echoed like a colossal mistake in sync with his clomping boots, materialized in his knotted stomach. It was his shrieking brain, vehemently ordering his body to yank away and scurry that had taken control, setting his defense mechanisms on override. And now he was just remorseful, pondering on how to crawl his way back into the room. His need, his urge to know what she was doing up there alone blocked his airway. A few more ragged breaths and he was hauling his way up, palm scrubbed absently against the unkempt, wooden banister until a splinter lacerated the coarse curve of his flesh, but it didn't register with him as he kept pushing forward, lured by a silent siren's chant.

Once outside the room, he pressed his forehead against the frigid wall to cool away the thudding dizziness that whipped his skull. He was afraid to step in the room, uninvited and unwanted; and he was afraid to stay outside, the blank expression fogging her eyes just before he walked outside spoke volumes that the longer he left her alone the farther she'd slip away. Foolishly stuck on the wrong side of the wall in the first place, he cussed under his breath and plodded wearily the remaining steps.

The doorknob swiveled and he lingered in the entrance, vision adjusting swiftly to take in his surroundings, airway clogged as he registered Carol, curled up on the bed, staring right back at him through insanely wide, goggled eyes, without as much as a salty droplet glistening inside them. She didn't address him and he was at a loss for words, the reasons for his return bottled up in a heaving chest.

* * *

"_I can hear you worrying, Daryl." Her tone was calm as a warm gaze caressed his face and he cast a sidelong glance her way. Carol was smiling softly, chin wedged in the curve of her elbow, propped on the lowered window. _

_She had remained surprisingly silent for the biggest part of the ride and this only made him more nervous. Nervous was a wise diction choice, assisting him to keep going, otherwise he'd have to admit that her plans had scared him shitless._

"_Haven't changed your mind yet?" he growled, teeth gritted painfully._

_Carol bit her lip, wondering if he really was so worried about her or simply considered her adamant resolution nothing short of a whim. It was unfair at best this doubt over his intentions, but she could barely fight it back, struck as she was by the emotional engagement his behavior avowed rather explicitly. "I'm not going t__ο__," she stated matter-of-factly._

_Daryl seethed, blazing eyes hardly focusing on the road ahead. "That's about the worst idea you've ever had," he sulked, rage thinly veiled in an underlying snarl. "Dunno why I'm helping you with that." _

"_You know just fine," Carol sighed and half hung outside again, inhaling the refreshing breeze of the morning dew only to smack her head on the window frame when Daryl took a sharp left, the truck bumping along over a rocky terrain cluttered with potholes and numerous mud puddles. She winced in pain and rubbed her forehead. "You think I'll change my mind if you give me a concussion?"_

"_I sure as hell can try," he grumbled._

"_Pull over for a minute, please?"_

_He slammed on the breaks and threw an arm in front of Carol to stanch her from flinging through the windshield. _

"_Jeez, you're just too rough sometimes," she muttered._

_Rolling his eyes, Daryl ran a thumb over the already reddish spot beneath her hairline. "That's gonna bruise and swell," he smirked crookedly._

"_Happy now?" she jeered, but he just shrugged, frowning._

"_A pig-headed dumbass with a death wish, that's what you are," he sputtered pointedly, brow etched. His voice drizzled with venom although his eyes glistened with concern as he puffed. "Fixing yourself up for some deep shit."_

"_You'll be there." Her steadfast faith in him rang as a safety net, both of them knew was inexistent. _

_Shooting her a murderous look through a slit, he barked, tone accusing. "You might as well succeed at getting us both killed this time."_

"_Your being in danger is about the last thing I want," she bellowed her indignation. "You don't have to come with me, but it's something I have to do. I just need to."_

"_Shit." Daryl squeezed the wheel, knuckles turning white. "Why? I made sure to go there myself so that you wouldn't." Squinting up at her, they locked gazes, conveying unuttered reasonings through a hard look. "Let's go back to the prison," he asked quietly, almost imploring her to heed his advice, confident that this time he knew better._

_Carol wriggled her fingers, eyes transfixed on her lap. "I'm sorry, Daryl," she murmured._

"_I don't like it," he grunted, stooping over the horn, voice thick with emotion. That would be a fiasco, no doubt; she was mindlessly thrusting herself in a self-destructive orbit and he just couldn't hamper it._

"_We should find a vehicle," she said softly, reaching a hand to pat his shoulder soothingly. "I'll head up alone and you can go back. I'll be fine, really."_

"_How hard did you hit your head?" Daryl snapped, but she didn't flinch. "Alone…" he huffed. "We need a mental institution to check you in. I swear something's seriously wrong with you." A wary gaze skittered all over her face and he blinked when the first sun rays lapped all around, encompassing her in glowing halo._

_Carol beamed at him and the underlying tenderness of his tone, offering a tight-lipped smile that crinkled her eyes. "Isn't it a wonderful day?"_

"_You're fuckin' nuts." _

"_I'm just glad you're with me."_

"_Buckle up. I'm just pissed," he grumped, with feigned anger and genuine apprehension, before jamming on the throttle._

* * *

Just a step. That's all it took before queasiness claimed him as he clenched his jaw to control his swaying. A penguin dashing down cocktails in the Sahara desert would make a more plausible caption than a redneck, crossbow-yielding, lethal hunter in the pink walls of Sophia's former bedroom, he ranted inwardly.

He slouched heavily on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, and the mattress sagged under his weight until Carol's knees brushed against his thigh. Burying his face in his hands, he kept his back on her, striving to tame down the hollow breaths behind him that reverberated deafeningly in his head. Blood converted into ice when he finally spun around to meet the glassy transparency of her cerulean gaze set on him. Never had he imagined that one day he'd simply wish she could cry. Really cry, with violent sobs, torrents of burning tears and heart wrenching pain. It would be preferable, definitely less unnerving than that layer of desolate dryness cloaking her gaze in ideal sync with the unnatural hue of lurid pallor replenishing her skin.

Daryl regarded her intensely, blinking away the sting in his own eyes, clueless on how to provide unsolicited consolation. He used to be a man who never strayed from his comfort zone. He used to be a man with breach-free fences and impenetrable walls. He used to be a man who'd beat senseless anyone reckless enough to trespass his personal space. He used to be that man, over a year ago. And now he was contemplating on how to coax her lurking lament to the surface. Now it took him everything he had to fight back his own tears for a lost little girl he struggled tooth and nail to save. Now the core of his being was zeroing in on the feminine figure before him, ripe to scoop out his heart and hand it to her if that's what was required to knock down her resistance.

He was terrified, bewildered and drenched in agony. This was a moment he always dreaded, although he had never been naïve enough to honestly believe they had altogether skipped it. Caught up deep enough in fighting day to day survival, grieving for their bereavements was postponed for later and later and even later, until it resembled redundant to pause and keen over something that happened so long ago. Carol had only had a moment of meltdown when her daughter tripped out of the barn and instantly grew completely cold after that. He could admit now that his aloofness, pungent insults and hands down enmity wasn't really helpful, the share of responsibility weighed an insufferable burden on his shoulders. This was his encumbrance, though, and avowing it now would be of no avail.

That's the reason he didn't want her to come back there. That's the reason he had come and fetched her Sophia's pictures for her last birthday. He feared this moment more than anything. She had tucked her pain too deep inside so as to function properly and now it only seemed it had required such an inhuman effort for such a long time that she was crippled, unable to channel it out. Simply lying on Sophia's bed and not shedding a tear, cloaked in an ostensible self-composure so unrealistic and disheartening that sparked quivers up his spine. It wasn't just one of his greatest fears. It was one of the greatest, most ominous menaces.

The skittish boy inside him surrendered to blind panic on impulse, sucking the marrow of his bones as it galloped to the exit, but the male, the dauntless male coexisting with it in a permanent state of warfare, stayed put long enough to leash his feral, animalistic instincts. He'd try, at least. That's why he was here. The dawning realization of the riddle that led him back to her side startled him, but he didn't move an inch. He couldn't afford losing her. He had to snag her back. And he'd try, really try; everything.

In sore need to busy his hands only to avoid touching her, he started shoving away rag dolls and toys spread haphazardly on the bed. Words clawed up their way only to ring hoarse and contorted, deprived of chastisement or dismissal, full of concern. "Damn you, Carol."

"She used to sleep with all her stuffed animals in bed so that none got offended," she explained dryly, not the slightest emotion slithering in her voice. Her brow furrowed, though, at the memory and he evaluated that as progress.

Daryl reached out and she stiffened even before their skins make contact. Feeling like a jerk, he went for it nevertheless, pads barely waltzing on her bare shoulder.

Carol swallowed hard, lips pursed as she squirmed a little to release herself only for his hand to curl around her arm and squeeze it sternly. "What are you-"

He shook his head lightly, gaze pleading with her befuddled one just enough to cut her off mid-sentenced. "Scoot," he muttered.

Jaw hanging agape with incredulity, she complied effortlessly, making room for his vast frame in the narrow bed while defensively hugging herself. He pretended not to notice the way she was shutting him out as he eased back on the pillow, slowly turning to face her full frontal, double checking that absolutely no part of his body was touching her. If there was a person still roaming on earth that could fully grasp the gravity of not trespassing the brittle boundaries of her personal space while she was submerged in a mental status of brewing denial, it'd be a safe assumption that it was him. Physical contact wasn't his knack by any stretch of imagination or generosity, but damn, he was here, stubborn and compounded, fixed on a purpose the fulfillment of which struck as both a vital prerequisite and a definitive parameter for what might lay ahead for them both in the aftermath of this visit.

It was obvious, at last. The side effects of her radical transformation. Growing from an abused victim to a strong woman, perfectly independent and able to fend for herself hadn't come without a price and now it was claiming its toll. Her actions, decisions, suggestions would shock him occasionally, but he'd dismiss every disconcerting thought swiftly. Like prodding Andrea to slash the Governor's throat in his sleep. Hell, she had stood up to Merle threatening to do the same thing in case he screwed Daryl up. Survival, he had whirred to himself, lack of alternative routes. It was more; he could see it crystal clear now. She had become ruthless when it came down to protecting her own, displaying a mercilessness characterized by lack of pity against anything endangering their beloved ones. That was his trait, though, not Carol's. He mustered everything he had during the months they spent out in the open to infuse this kind of perception and reasoning inside her, to steel her with grim determination and absence of hesitance against the brutality of the world. To make sure she'd survive. And she had, rendering him a cocky heap of smugness for the way she contrived to become everything that life dictated and ration out how to maintain the caring aspect of her unique nature. He regretted nothing, still. Every step of this craggy path was mandatory. Neither of them had another choice.

But now it was about Sophia. And it had backfired. On her. A crustaceous covering, like an icy shell gleamed right there, inside the vitreous glossiness of her gaze, diligently engulfing the suppressed torment of her daughter's loss. Daryl scanned her inquisitively and she countered a quizzical look. His heart throbbed at the sight before him. A tidal wave of pain was towering inside her, raring to devour her the moment it whooshed over. Beneath it, Carol was suffocating under a mask of mettle and unwarranted strength. He had to scratch that superficial layer of stalwartness, fracture it, until her anguish spurted freely. Not having a clue on how to accomplish that couldn't be a deterrent now; he simply had to do it.

"What?" Carol deadpanned after a couple of minutes, his scorching gaze setting the foundations of her bolstered walls in flames.

His mouth remained sealed and he shrugged imperceptibly, never breaking eye contact.

"Maybe I should go fix us something to eat," she mumbled.

Daryl shook his head and remained mute, evaluating cautiously the ever growing tension in her facial features and the way she was growing restless, muscles wobbling under his unfaltering gaze, eyes gradually disconcerted.

"I won't cry," she stated, lips pursed, but voice wavering.

Seizing that looming chance, his arm slid behind her back, shuffling her closer, impervious to the feeble resistance she recruited. "Ain't no world for Sophia this one we live in," he rasped guardedly when she stilled, voice husky but soft.

He didn't give her the opportunity to bolt, well aware that was about exactly what she'd attempt to do, like a cornered animal. His long experience in the wilderness came in handy once again. Animals, he knew. He crossed paths with them in the woods; he glared back at the one glaring at him in his mirror. Her jaw clenched and her defensive stance modified, morphing into passive aggressive attack, balled fists colliding with his chest to shove him away. But before she could exert any kind of force in her moves, an unbreakable grip snared both her wrists and the arm around her clamped, crashing her against him.

"It's ok to miss her," he whispered in her ear. "You ain't weak for missing her."

Carol whimpered and fidgeted, straining to free herself, but her fight was hopeless as he registered the trembling chin in the crook of his neck and her racing pulse in the back of his hand. Her breath pitched and he knew they were almost there, all she needed was a final push.

"You loved her."

That blatant profession did her in. She gasped for air and he knew that oxygen failed to fill her lungs when she groaned and burst into an avalanche of tears. "I could still have her," she choked up. "All I had to do was keep an eye on her."

Daryl knew the self-battering default on 'what ifs'. What if Carol had never peeled her gaze off Sophia? What if he had been closer? What if Dale had warned them sooner? What if T-Dog hadn't sliced his vein? What if Rick hadn't left Sophia behind? Unfulfilled possibilities that, granted a chance to become reality, would have triggered a completely different outcome. But there was no such thing as dilating time; second chances were a stranger notion in the world they lived in.

And the venomous twinge of her last phrase was entirely on him and his unjustified lashing out on her. He had gone a long way controlling his temper, tethering his fits, but he'd never be able to take these words back.

"No, no, don't," he pleaded, oblivious to the wetness in his own eyes. "I was just being an asshole, giving you shit. That's all I did back then."

"But-but it's so true." She had slumped in his embrace now, sobs brutally perforating her figure and he released the clutch around her wrists, pretty sure there would be a visible mark in the morning.

"No," he droned on and on. "Bullshit's all it was." It was haunting, the sound of her crying. It had spooked him since that first night in the trailer and always found a way to creep in, even in his nightmares.

"I lost my child for a red shirt," Carol gagged, tears kindling his collarbone as she kept shuddering head to toe. "I failed her."

"No."

"What kind of mother keeps living after losing her child?"

Cupping both sides of her swollen face, he forced her puffy eyes to meet his stormy ones. "A strong one," he said quietly to make sure she believed him, voice thick with emotion. She melted again, wheezing trammeled, agonizing breaths, her body ruffling against his.

The lump in his throat swelled more, if that was even possible, ready to erupt. "Damn it. Stop this." Lips were wiping her tears away, fleetingly pecking her eyes; lips he didn't immediately identify as his own. They were there, though, brushing over her skin and her fingers fiddled with the hem of his shirt, eventually grasping it, nails grazing his toned sternum. She sobbed violently, clinging to him and his arms clamped around her protectively, vice-like, to snuggle her even closer.

He held her tight until everything was released out of her system. Carol cried for hours and, by the time her spasms subsided, ebbing away in stifled sniffles and hiccups, darkness had long ago blanketed their whereabouts.

"I have no one since I lost her," she croaked, looking up at him, face scrunched up.

Daryl winced at the crudeness of her rejection and lurched forward on impulse, plastering his lips on hers. No thought goaded the action, just the smothering urge to somehow shush her. Over and over the scene played out with him jumping on his feet and storming out of the room. In his mind. Because no matter how firmly his brain ordered him to run for the hills, no matter how fiercely his heart walloped in his chest, no matter how hard he chastised himself for craving this woman in her weakest hour, he just couldn't bring himself to pause. Her mouth was rigid under his, but he didn't faze, just kept moving his lips until she kissed him back lightly.

Carol panted. "Daryl-"

He snorted a humorless laugh, petting the black circles encompassing her dented eye sockets. "Never been called no one before," he said bitterly. "Been treated like that? Sure. But no asshole ever dared to call me no one to my face."

She was still hyperventilating raggedly and tried to control it by heaving deeply, welcoming his kisses although she was too weak to return most of them. Patience wasn't his strongest attribute, in spite of his profound understanding of the situation, and soon his equanimity oozed off, anger supplanting it at her impotence to snap out of her devastation regardless of his inhuman efforts.

"Are you giving up?" he bit out and tilted her chin, still maintaining half control of his exploding fury.

In the absence of any negative answer, he moved to pull away when dainty arms looped around his neck to pin him on the spot. "Don't go," she cringed, lost and worn out, lassitude muzzling her voice.

This time he glowered down on her, tone harsh and unrefined. "Are you giving up?"

"No," she breathed in his mouth and relaxed in the embrace locking around her again.

* * *

"Eat."

It was a command. A stern one as he stuffed in a mouthful of their dinner, watching Carol strewing hers around the plate absently. She nodded and conformed willfully, chewing a morsel.

"What do you need to pack?" he asked, seemingly nonchalant to prevent her from trailing off.

Carol eyed him sheepishly, slanting her fork against the brim of the plate. "Nothing," she muttered, eyes still red-rimmed and fuzzy. "You can say it, you know," she went on, smiling faintly. "That I brought us here for nothing. That I shouldn't have come in the first place. That I had no reason to. That it totally backfired. That you told me so."

"Eat," he reiterated calmly, dodging her prompt. "Ain't about to start feeding you."

He wasn't mad and didn't consider the whole endeavor a mistake after all. If anything, he was relieved. Demons had to be exorcised, defeated in the battlefield, not swept under the rug. It didn't even feel like returning the favor for all those times she was the one to smash down his walls and coax him to face all those fears, scars and insecurities stealthily encroaching on his soul. They were even for today. Because he was forced to strip his heart and wear it on his sleeve, opening up to the contingency of getting hurt to compensate for her closing down, eventually worming a tunnel to lug her out of her abyss.

And now they were sitting quietly opposite to each other, immersed in a comfortable silence, sharing a together with no explicit content but with categorical finality. Too spent from the inner turmoil they had to exterminate and the emotional roller coaster of the day, yet oddly serene, having prevailed the plight and their former dire predicament. Sure they were physically exhausted and emotionally drained, but they were victorious.

Making sure she had swallowed a few more bites before claiming her attention, his voice echoed warm when he spoke again. "We can come back if you change your mind."

"I won't, I promise," she answered quickly, gaze apologetic.

"_If_ you do, I'll bring you here again," he rasped, emphasis stressing each word as he eyed her fervently, lips quirking in a hint of smile. "It's ok. It's your home."

Carol stood up and rounded the table slowly before squatting in front of him. She inhaled deeply and took a moment to arrange her thoughts in a meaningful order as she laced their fingers and planted a soft kiss at the back of his hand, registering the instant shivering this mere contact ignited.

"Just thought I might… I don't know…" she soughed, floundering between random, scattered, unspoken truths, chin burrowed staunchly on his knee and lips still lingering over his knuckles. "Like she'd be here… I thought if I came here I could kind of… That some part of her would be here, you know?"

Coarse fingers threaded through her hair and fresh tears welled up, glistening behind the fan of her eyelashes. "Thought that I could find her again."

"Sophia is where you are," he offered, clearing his throat before the lump blistering inside detonated.

"What?" An ear to ear grin bloomed at the sound of these words, lids flapping to whither the dampness away.

Daryl raised his brow and bent forward, muffling a chuckle. "You heard me."

"Say it again," she insisted, lips pouted unconsciously.

"Sophia is where you are," he drawled, thumb toying with a salty droplet overflowing the corner of her eye.

Carol exhaled heavily and stared at him dead in the eye through a sheen of evanescing tears as she covered the hand on her cheek. "This isn't my home," she whispered softly, leaning into his touch. "You are."

A gentle tug on her waist dragged her up, biceps flexing as he settled her in his lap. She requited instantly by snaking two slender arms around his neck, eyes roving over his face, taking in an unfathomable expression she identified as desire mingled up with unswerving obstinacy to protect her; from the dead, the living, herself. They claimed each other's mouths simultaneously, Carol cupping his face and Daryl scribbling obscure patterns on her thigh.

More active and friskier than earlier, she beat him in the joust for dominance, his lower lip pliant as her wet tongue licked a moist path before shyly gliding between his teeth. Soon enough she was ravaging his mouth but he was kissing her back in a flash with reciprocal zeal. Escalating progressively, their mutual yearning became more demanding. She swooned hard by the way his insatiable craving sucked the air out of her and he grew harder when her eyes rolled. They moaned in unison as his hand drifted across her ribcage and pawed her breast above the top.

"Not tonight," she panted all flustered up, breaking the kiss first. "I don't think I can tonight."

Muzzling a lewd groan the best he could, he ceased his assault immediately. "Sure," he grunted hoarsely.

"Hating me already?" Carol nuzzled in his neck, pecking the scratchy jaw line of a poorly-trimmed goatee.

"Nah," he smiled and shook his head quickly, mindful to simmer down and cool off in order to get rid of the bulge between his legs. "But you're a tease. And I definitely need a moment here."

"You're sweet, Daryl," she purred. "Pudding sweet."

"Watch that mouth of yours," he grumbled. "That's almost as bad as calling me no one."

Carol sighed. "That's not at all what I meant, Daryl. You are the exact opposite and you know it."

"Ain't mean you ain't getting hell about it," he smirked crookedly.

"Wanna sleep with me tonight?" she suggested, holding her breath.

They locked gazes, registering a challenging flicker in each other's eyes.

"In the bastard's bed?" he sneered and received a sharp nod. "Where you keep your twisted sex toys?" Another nod. "Hell, yeah!"

Once in the bedroom, Carol dropped on her knees, blindly groping the narrow space between the mattress and the wooden boards, nose wrinkled. Daryl ran a calloused hand over his face. It was beyond comprehension the way this woman was regenerating from her ashes in a blink and the tips of his ears were ten shades of crimson-tinged. Bridling a half smirk not to encourage her taunting, he curved his brow when she pried out her vibrator and peered at him mischievously.

"Bet the batteries are flat," Daryl grouched and chuckled triumphantly when Carol flipped the switch repeatedly with considerable fanfare only for it to remain still. "Told you," he swaggered.

Carol stormed to the drawer next, mussing up its contents until she dredged out another vibrator powered from a wall outlet. "Never trusted batteries. Electricity was more reliable," she laughed.

"Last time I checked, electricity was taking some time off," he snickered and watched her face drop as he sprawled on the bed. "Jesus, you're such a perv, Carol. There are more fake dicks than real ones in this fucking room."

Tossing her back-up defunct device aside, she skidded sideways on the mattress next to him, grimacing. "It was between a fake one and Ed's."

"Are you bringing this shit back with you?" he growled, blushing again.

"I think I have better options now."

"Thought I was too rough," he teased, recalling her comment in the truck, relief evident in his voice.

"That's how I like it," she deadpanned.

He chortled despite himself, stifling a yawn. "Perv."

Carol bridged the gap between them, seeking his lips. "So, what do you wanna do tomorrow?" he asked when they broke apart, gaze wary.

"I think I'm ready to get back to the prison," she maundered groggily, nesting in his arms.

"You scared me shitless today, you asshole," he mumbled in her ear with a gentle squeeze.

"Daryl?"

"What now?"

"Maybe we can do more on Ed's bed than just sleeping in the morning."

"Maybe we will."

They dozed off almost instantly after that, both smiling.

_"It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything." __― __Chuck Palahniuk__, __Fight Club_

* * *

_**It was pretty heavy, I know, and I hope I did justice to this bone deep pain and Carol flipping the page to the next chapter. Even though it's from Daryl's POV, it's definitely a Carol story to me. I tried not to turn the mood upside down in the end, I just wanted to portray them optimistic about the future despite Sophia's tragedy. **_

_***sigh* This story ripped my heart apart… But it's a moment I'd really like to see on the show and I'm pretty sure I won't, so…**_

_**Hope you liked it!**_

_**Thank you all for reading :) A review? A fave? A follow?**_


	39. Author's Note

Hey, everyone!

My apologies for stumbling upon an author's note and not a new story… Problem is, I didn't think I would be able to finish a new one if I didn't get this out of my system.

I'm so freaking upset these last couple of weeks and I tried not to mention it or make a big deal out of it, because deep down I know it's just wrong that I'm so affected by something like this, but this behavior has completely backfired and now I can't write anything. There are trolls in here and, even worse, there are people attacking the writers. I won't get into details, I'm just going to say that if I hadn't promised to deliver some requests, this would be a goodbye.

However, I still have to write something for DerpPaws-McReedus-Caryl-LOVER, peonies01, FinntheHuman1697 and the songs Haitus80, Chastyre and jacknval requested a long, long, long time ago. Because some of them are combined according to my drafts, that makes a total of six stories. I was hoping to keep going for a long time and had some new ideas, but right now I'm so beaten up, I think this collection will come to an end once these requests are complete. It's the least I can do to all of you who have encouraged my first, shy steps in ff with your great support.

I apologize for the slow pace of my writing and the updates that have become scarce lately, but I'm the middle of moving between countries and literally start over from point zero and being attacked over some stories doesn't really help my overall stress. I apologize for any mistakes you find here or in my stories, but English isn't my first language and I always struggle with it (even though I occasionally mess with Peta2's job who really is my guardian angel, sorry). I apologize to everyone who has felt offended by something I've written, that was not my intention.

But I don't apologize to people who ship Daryl with another character or with themselves and yet read this collection of shorts. It's also beyond my grasp why a Carol hater would read a Caryl fic. Seriously, from my point of view, it's just sad and only aims at a nasty review to hurt the writer, which is pretty easily achieved and I hate to admit that. It goes without saying that every single opinion is precious and respected and everyone is entitled to one, but readers who feel that Daryl deserves better than Carol should stay away from this fic which is explicitly marked as Caryl and Caryl only. And I don't apologize to people who hate my writing style and still read this series.

I hope that after this rant the muse will be back and I'll be able to complete one of the stories really soon. Again, thank you all for your support and forgive me for this delirium.

Till next time…

K.


	40. Bleach

**To people who believe that Daryl Dixon is a real person and hate him being paired with anyone other than themselves: THIS FIC IS NOT FOR YOU. I ship two _fictional_ characters, Daryl and Carol and it's clearly marked in the summary. Thank you and goodbye :)**

**To trolls: I'm sorry you're so unhappy. All you have to do to brighten up your lives is try to be kind and respectful to people who disagree with you. Believe me, it's worth it. There is a beautiful world out there and it becomes visible immediately when you stop spewing your venom around. Thank you for reminding me that people can be mean with no reason at all. I'll keep the lesson, but my bubble is just too filled with love for me to abandon it. We all have each other's back in this site and I wish that someday you'll get to experience how precious it is to provide and receive support. Again, THIS FIC IS NOT FOR YOU. Thank you and goodbye :)**

**Kaye, Paws, Fairies Masquerade, ramblin rose: I'm the worst reader ever, but you all have my full support.**

* * *

**Hey, everyone!**

**I'm humbled by your support, thank you so much! I was crying the night I wrote that author's note and then I cried again with all the support you amazing people sent me :) And I'm an ugly crier, you know, all huffing and puffing and my face is scrunched up… It had to stop, seriously stop, before terrorizing people around me, LOL! So, I've put on my bulletproof uniform to ricochet the haters (go superpowers!) and I'm back :)**

**Anyway, moving on! This is a lighter one, based on a request from ****DerpPaws-McReedus-Caryl-LOVER****, in which Daryl sees Tyreese kissing Carol and he thinks it was Carol who actually kissed Tyreese and… well, you get the idea :) As always, I had trouble sticking to the prompt (not the smartest kid in the class) and I strayed a bit, but I do hope I did this idea justice. You know me, I just can't stop making things complicated. There is also a Daryl/Glenn scene dedicated to ****ferrisbueller**** (I got all kinds of misty with your sweet review, thank you).**

**I was desperate to post this story, so Peta2 had time just for a quick look at it. Yes, the mistakes inside are ALL mine. My sincere apologies, you certainly deserve better, but I wanted to get this out there as soon as possible to prove that we are stronger than some people want us to be.**

**Enjoy, my dearies!**

* * *

Marching hurriedly towards the fence, as if there was a purpose in her speedy gait, Carol flicked her eyes up to the guard tower for just a split second. Of course he had been watching, hawk-eyed, inspecting the muddy ground she was about to trample on next for looming threats even before she knew where her footing would land.

A smile ghosted across her lips and he acknowledged her with a slight nod, barely perceptible, but there anyway before averting her gaze from him. She had to be extra careful not to raise any suspicions, especially with Glenn surveying both of them cautiously, otherwise Daryl would most certainly be high-tailing it in a blink. He'd be stuck up there in a joint shift for three more hours and Carol was in dire need of an excuse to stick closer; well, as close as she could get without jeopardizing the top-secret status of their relationship and grab every single chance available for a few fleeting glances at the same time.

"You're drooling," Glenn chuckled next to him.

"Fuck you," Daryl retorted grumpily, pretending not to be as dumbfounded as Glenn was from the lack of venom in his voice.

Glenn leaned over the railing, arms splayed as he arched his back, the bones of his spine cricking one by one, grimacing in the process. "She's not gonna get killed in the prison yard, you know," he muttered with a painful hiss. "Walkers don't spontaneously pop up through the dirt."

Daryl's face didn't twitch, gaze still trailing her orbit as she burst into a brisk trot to catch up with Tyreese who was patrolling the perimeter.

"What's up with you two anyway?" Glenn went on, undeterred by the guttural snarl that wriggled out his companion's throat.

"Ain't nothing up, you smartass," he grunted, pondering on whether his unfaltering poker face gave away the blatant lie. That's what it was, after all. A lie. He could use some advice, he knew it, especially from a married man, a man like Glenn, a man engaged with functional relationships with the opposite sex, a man in stark contrast with himself. Only he found it impossible to muster the courage and ask for guidance.

What was up with Carol and him? _He_ had gone to her cell that night a couple of weeks ago. _He_ had trouble breathing and clearing his vision from the dark desire blurring it. _He_ had stayed when she kissed him. _He_ had made love to her after that, hoping his performance wasn't too disappointing. _He_ had demanded for it to be a secret between the two of them. _He_ had figured every possible way to keep the sex coming in an almost daily basis since then, lured to their physical contact like a junkie. She had complied with his every wish effortlessly, following his lead without as much as the tiniest skirmish.

And right now, he had no idea where they stood. None. Time spent with Carol was never enough and it would be easier if the numerous members of the group were aware of their… What? Relationship? One thing he knew beyond any doubt, though. He was nowhere near renouncing what they had. Addiction didn't even begin to cover the tip of the iceberg for what he felt since her lips brushed against his, effectively enticing him in a spiraling downfall. He also hated that she was still ostensibly available to everyone else. Not staking openly a claim on her deprived him of the right to protest whatsoever. She was single and had obviously stirred the interest of a couple of the newcomers. And he was trapped on watch duty.

Glenn dragged him out of his jumbled reverie. "I'd bet my chips that Carol's in love with you," he said guardedly, throwing out a herring to catch a whale. "And if, by any chance, you felt the same way, it would be awesome. No crime at all."

The hunter's forehead creased in a scowl, shooting Glenn a contemplative stare. Love, feelings, _shit_. "No one's in love here," he bristled, the l-bomb soaring strained in the air between them. "Besides, ain't no way to know stuff like that."

"Sure there is," Glenn countered confidently, taking a step back before elaborating; precautionary measures, just in case Daryl's fist itched. "I love all of you like family. Hershel's as good as a father to me, Beth is a sister, even you are some kind of mean, asshat older cousin or whatever," he chuckled and registered his cranky partner stifling a smirk. "But," his voice dropped a full octave, wide eyes fixed on Daryl who was gawking straight back at him, "if something ever happened and there was no plan, no time to think, just pure instinct to launch and save the one person you can't imagine yourself without, I would run straight to Maggie, no doubt."

Daryl glowered down on him for a moment before his gaze skittered back to Carol who was doubled over laughing hysterically with something the black man had told her. "To hide under her skirt?" he sneered.

"All I'm saying is that there is a way to know," Glenn sighed, dodging the derisive remark.

"Thought it was clear by now that I'm toiling my fuckin' ass to protect you all," he bit out absently, eyes stabbing daggers at Tyreese when he rest his palm on Carol's back, ushering her forward to one of the auxiliary buildings.

"Yeah, I know that. You'd jump to take the bullet for each member of this group," Glenn assented, scooting closer once again. He pretended to miss the way Daryl was stalking the two distant figures step by step. "Even for me," he snickered with a nudge. "Probably all of us would and maybe that's what has kept us alive for so long. But what if you could take just one bullet, save just one of us? Who would it be?"

Daryl regarded him suspiciously through a slit. One bullet. One person. Was that supposed to be a quandary?

"My point exactly!" Glenn jibed triumphantly.

Daryl's glaring scowl turned into an epic frown as his gaze skittered back to Carol. "What?"

"Carol," he stated matter-of-factly, shrugging. "You'd choose Carol over everyone else."

He would. "You don't know that," Daryl grouched, lips pursed in a firm line.

"I'd run to Maggie, Hershel to Beth, Rick to his children," Glenn muttered, brows quirked, as he pointed a finger to Daryl, smiling knowingly. "And you'd run to Carol. You two would probably bang your heads together running to each other. I _do_ know that."

"Ain't nothing wrong being friends with Carol," he grumbled stubbornly, blushing ten hues of crimson.

"Jesus Christ, Daryl!" Glenn bellowed his exasperation, tossing his hands in the air. "Who said something's wrong about it? But this kind of choice, or sacrifice, it has nothing to do with friendship. We'd die fighting next to each other, but don't go and tell me that you'd actually hesitate if it came down to Carol and any of us."

Daryl gritted his teeth at the dawning realization that had Carol been in danger, his behavior would be identical to Glenn's if anything threatened Maggie. And Glenn loved Maggie. Which could only mean one thing for the way he felt about Carol. Soon enough she'd be out of his prying gaze once she and Tyreese turned around the corner. _If_ he allowed them to turn around the corner and disappear. The bone in his jaw cracked loudly.

"God, my back is killing me," Glenn groaned, stretching again in an attempt to unfold a cramped muscle.

"Ain't no way in hell I'm giving you a massage, asshole."

"I'm hurt," Glenn clasped his hands in feigned despair. "I'd give you one."

"And I'd give you an arrow through the eye," Daryl sputtered angrily. "No need for massage after that."

"Even that, you only save it for Carol," he chortled.

Narrowing his eyes when she peered over her shoulder to his direction, his stomach jolted and pulse accelerated in sync as distance soared, obfuscating the clear view of the look in her face. Somehow she seemed sidetracked, decoyed in a constant deviation of her course between the metallic fence and Tyreese's broad constitution. He could barely make out her frame as the bastard's body towered over her. Jealousy stirred and simmered in his gut.

"Do something," Glenn urged, watching him scanning the perch for his weapon. "Don't just sit and watch, do."

Daryl let slip a barely decipherable moan as he swung the crossbow over his shoulder and strode hastily to the staircase. "I am."

"Growling to any guy that gets closer to her isn't exactly doing something."

"I am," he barked, sparing him one last glare.

Glenn's head snapped. "What?"

"We're kindaa thing and best keep your trap shut about it," Daryl shouted, hobbling down the metallic stairs.

"What?" Glenn gaped.

* * *

Everything unraveled through the fogginess of an opaque veil. She had cast a desperate peek towards the guard tower once the direction of where Tyreese headed the conversation had become crystal clear, but they had already drifted too far for her to be able to distinguish whether Daryl or Glenn perceived her dire need for someone to intervene and chuck a life vest at her.

He paused behind her and she had no choice other than swirl hesitantly to face him. The silence morphed into discomfort and there was no doubt that she'd eventually have to provide an answer. It clogged up in her throat though. Everything would have been so much easier if she could just turn him down politely with the simple declaration that she was in a relationship with Daryl. Only she couldn't. Just a hint for their abstract involvement to a third person would ruin any potential prospect for _it_ to flourish into something more. So Carol just bit her lip and denied that there was something brewing between her and Daryl. Her next thought was to take it upon her and confess that she was in love with him no matter what but the words barely scratched her tongue before bottling up behind sealed lips as Tyreese's mouth crashed on hers.

Carol resisted with everything she had, lips unyielding beneath his and hands pushing the man's broad torso away. The clomping thud of boots sprinting on the prison yard pierced through her ears as Tyreese unglued his mouth from hers and shot her a startled look. He was hauled off her in a flash before either of them uttered a single sound and Daryl's rabid expression emerged behind him. His balled fists collided swiftly with the black man's cheekbone who reeled at the blunt blow only for a knee to plow deep into his stomach and knock him flat on the ground.

She shrieked an incoherent cry, storming forward to latch Daryl from the shoulders and rivet him on the spot, but he shoved her away so brutally she stomped on her feet and toppled over, a sharp pain ripping her elbow. Daryl plummeted on his knees, landing hard on Tyreese's stomach and punching him relentlessly with every ounce of strength lurked inside him, nostrils flaring and taut nerves wobbling heatedly under his skin. Scrambling up on her feet unsteadily, she was ripe to lurch herself on him again when Rick's arms locked around his waist, dragging him away from the subject of his fuming wrath. Daryl squirmed and wriggled like a trapped beast to release himself, but the ex-sheriff had him detained in an unbreakable clutch.

Everyone seemed to scream simultaneously and the level of the commotion clouded her senses as Maggie, Michonne and Glenn chimed in and Tyreese clambered shakily on all fours. Daryl's raging temper was aimed at her now, charging her for kissing another guy with an otherworldly roaring that she found hard to match it with the howl of a living person. A trembling voice she idly identified as her own attempted to vindicate herself from the false accusations, but the strained excuses she articulated were cloaked by Glenn defending her and Tyreese taking the blame on himself, between spitting mouthfuls of blood. No one could hear anything in the middle of this tempestuous tumult and soon enough Carol buried her face in her hands ignoring Maggie's encouragement to go clean her arm, oblivious to the fact that her blood was drizzling on the dirt. Michonne was yelling at Daryl that he was out of his mind and had almost committed a murder and Rick ordered him to go take some air.

By the time Carol's eyes fluttered open again, Daryl was gushing through the prison gates, shoulders hunched and crossbow dangling laxly from its strap, as multiple set of eyes sojourned on her, seeking answers she didn't possess. The hurt and pain glistening raw in his blazing gaze revealed beyond doubt the depth of his feelings for her which would have hurled an undulation of feral ebullience under different circumstances. Right now, though, she only muffled some vague apologies still striving to process what the hell had just happened out of nowhere. Glenn was explaining something about a misunderstanding and the inquisitive gazes escalated in mouths dropping agape when the word 'relationship' in reference to her and Daryl floated in the air. She picked on the fact that Daryl felt betrayed and was alienating himself the woods with great delay, the moment Tyreese grabbed her arm to say that he didn't know. She didn't listen, just watched his mouth moving as Daryl's last countenance pulled at her heart strings and terror that she might have lost him once and for all whooshed all over her, knotting up her innards. Shooting Tyreese a murderous look, she ranted irrationally that everything was his fault and stormed towards the forest edge, jolting away from Maggie who tried to stop her.

* * *

"What the fuck are you doing chasing after me?" he seethed through grinding teeth, vibrating head to toe.

She almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice behind her. Being foolish enough to flee the prison unarmed she had picked his trail, hoping to track him with the feeble practice she had. The only weapon she had was a keen-edged stick she grabbed from the ground and it had been more than an hour plunging herself deeper and deeper in the woods when she stepped into a clearing, finally compelled to admit that she had no idea where she was going. Only that she had to find him. The lack of walker's encounters during her quest struck her suddenly and she snorted a humorless laugh, aware of the irony to think she could actually stalk Daryl Dixon in the natural extension of his existence, the wilderness. It had been him stalking her probably from the beginning, perceiving her presence while she was ignorant to his. That alone sufficed to interpret the walker free surroundings; he made sure nothing threatened her, he kept her safe, he was protecting her. As always was the case with Daryl.

Giving him a quick once over, she registered his pinkish knuckles but altogether skipped the question. "I-I," Carol stuttered, eyes wide. "Daryl, please… I didn't do anything!"

Taking a step back on impulse when she move to lessen the distance between them, he glared at her acidly. "You kissed him," he roared, lifting the crossbow to dispatch an approaching walker, startled that his hands were shaking and he almost missed the target.

Carol shook her head intensely. "No," she whispered and gaped mutely at the hatred twinkling in his darkened gaze.

He was all over her face in a blink and she gasped, instinctively curling her fingers around his threadbare khaki shirt. "I saw it," he drawled, before yanking her back, a misshapen halo of fury radiating off him, too detonate to cramp inside, savage enough to engulf them both once unleashed.

"You saw _him_ kissing _me_," she pleaded desperately. "I didn't- I stopped it!"

"Get the fuck back," he snarled, shoving past her.

"Daryl!" she screeched, cantering hot on his heels. "Where are you going?"

"Ain't none of your fuckin' business."

"I'm coming with you," Carol stated solemnly, bumping into his back when he came to an abrupt halt.

Spinning around he gripped her arm harshly just in time to hamper her fall. "No way," he hissed poignantly. "There are still people you haven't kissed in the prison. I hope!" Noticing the bloody stains smearing the flesh down to her fingers, he freed her and dismissed her quickly, taming down his exploding temper as apprehension wormed in. "Go and do your thing."

Hurt by his venomous tone, Carol squared her shoulders, swallowing hard the tears welling up in her eyes. "You're an asshole, Daryl," she muttered scathingly, jaw fixed.

"I'm the asshole here?" he raved, eyes blazing, as he shoveled distance between them, fearful of his animalistic demeanor balancing precariously on the thin edge of the wedge.

"He asked if there was something between us," Carol floundered, running to keep up with him. "I told him no. You're the one who wanted to keep it secret."

"Is that blackmail?" he growled without turning his back, opening up his gait so that was nearly galloping behind him. "Go public or-"

"You're an asshole, Daryl," she cut him off mid-sentenced, voice twisted from an enormous lump blistering in her chest.

Huffing sarcastically, he scampered up a mucky path, the jagged soles of his boots gliding before hooking into the waterlogged soil. "Go back," he hollered over his shoulder, idly wondering if she'd endeavor to pursue him with her sneakers, textbook inappropriate shoes for hiking.

"I'm coming with you," Carol reiterated stubbornly and launched forward in an attempt to tag along.

"I don't want you with me."

"Please, don't say that."

"You don't even have a knife with you," he chided, mentally scolding himself for the devolved pace of his march that reassured he didn't skitter too far away. "How far you think you can go like that?"

A few steps on the slippery path and she was almost crawling, hands immersing wrist deep in the mire. "I'm safe with you."

"You ain't fuckin' safe _from_ me," he grumbled. Hearkening for even the remotest rustle around them, he heard the gargling flow of a nearby brook.

"I didn't kiss him," Carol maundered, wheezing labored breaths, practically clawing her ascent as the boggy slope only grew steeper and steeper.

"The fuck you didn't," Daryl puffed, but as his blind rage was progressively ebbing away, he recalled that his vision field back in the prison was blocked by Tyreese's back and he couldn't put his finger on who had made the first move to initiate the kiss.

"I only did what you asked me to." She was repeating herself like a broken record, she knew, but words were evading her and she had trouble verbalizing her thoughts, too distracted with the struggle to keep squishing forward.

"Never asked to whore yourself out," he sneered and swiveled around as he reached the top, stunned by the sting spewing from his verbal insult. That he regretted it immediately the moment in was blurted out was beyond the safety zone of what he could divulge to her.

"You're an asshole, Daryl," she sniffled, sobs looming evidently in her bobbing chest. "How dare you talk to me like that? You don't know what you saw. He kissed me, I pushed him away. He tried to tell you, Glenn tried to tell you, I'm telling you and-" Her rumble contorted into a yelp as she slipped and fell face down in the mud, revealing a umber-colored face after a few seconds.

Crumbling up on the ground, Carol burst into crying then, weeping bitter tears of woe, the successive plights of the day taking the better of her. There were far more than she could chew served on her plate.

He sighed at the wretched sight she provided and trudged down a few steps, outstretching a hand she slapped away with a groan. "Come on," he mumbled, resenting that deep down he believed every word that spurted out of her lips.

When he reached out again, she snagged his hand immediately and they were both on the top in a flash. Walking without another word towards the bubbling water, Carol looped her free arm around the one still holding her hand and tugged closer to him.

Once on the riverbank, Daryl pulled his shabby rag out of his back pocket and drenched it in the water, before scrubbing the dirt off her face. He had to suppress a smile ripe to crack as she wrinkled her nose and scrunched up her face when the freezing liquid touched her.

"Thanks," she whispered.

Keeping his eyes downcast the entire time, he moved to clean the slashed flesh on her elbow, cringing when she winced in pain.

"I did that?" he asked huskily, avoiding her punctuating gaze.

"You didn't mean to," she hiccupped, the last remnants of tears evaporating briskly as his pads darted over her forearm. "I tripped on my stupid feet."

"It hurts?"

Carol shrugged, fingers curling around his wrist. "A little."

His chin flexed but he remained silent.

"Why can't you just believe me?" she asked tentatively, hand dawdling on his, enticed along his flowing movements. "I'd never do anything to screw things between us."

Glancing up Daryl held her intense gaze for the first time, powerless to maintain his aloofness at the sight of tears still brimming in the edge of her eyelashes. "You didn't wanna kiss him?" he asked hoarsely.

Cool fingers threaded his greasy hair, shunting unruly strands behind his ears before resting on a poorly trimmed cheek. "I didn't kiss him, Daryl. He kissed me and I didn't kiss him back. You're the only one I wanna kiss. Just tried to keep whatever's going on between us a secret, like you wanted me to," she explained softly. "I know now that it's all out there you'll want to end this." Her voice broke in the end as she strived to maintain her swerving composure.

"You don't know half the things you think you do," he grumbled. "I told Glenn."

Her eyes goggled, almost vaulting out of their sockets. "You did?"

"About thirty fuckin' seconds before that prick kissed you," he pouted grumpily, brow furrowed.

"You regret it now? Telling Glenn?" The tone was expectant, but a trembling rustle slipped through her lips when he just shrugged, bowing his head. "You're an asshole, Daryl," she whiffed.

"Sounds like me," he murmured, barely audibly.

"We both have to apologize to him. He didn't know."

"Ain't no way in hell," Daryl growled. "No kiss and make up for the bastard."

Carol's hand slid down his chest, groping a hammering heart beat against her palm. "What about me? Kiss and make up for me?"

His head snapped up again and met a set of imploring cerulean eyes. "No," he said sternly.

"Please, Daryl. Can't you just cut me some slack here?" Words could barely maul their way up her throat.

Lids batted in response and his voice wavered as he clung to the memory of Tyreese and Carol… "No."

"It's over between us then?" she whimpered. "You really want me to go back and leave you alone, don't you?"

She inched away immediately at the lack of any answer, nodding her disappointment. Humiliatingly so, because her eyes flickered anywhere around his frame, unable to meet his. Daryl's heart pounded against his ribcage and terror pawed his gut, knotting it queasily as it dawned on him that he had finally succeeded to send her away. And he couldn't stand the mere thought of it, or the hurt oozing off her bleary gaze.

"You can't go back alone," he grunted. "You have no weapons."

"Don't worry, I'll make it," she replied quickly, wiping her eyes as she took in their whereabouts and offered a hasty, tight-lipped smile. "So, stay safe out there, ok?"

He arrested himself plodding behind her when she slowly walked away. "There's a cabin no more than twenty minutes from here," he bellowed. She stopped dead on her tracks at the unforeseen offer but he kept striding until he was in front of her.

Carol snatched his hand with both of hers, fiddling shyly with his fingers, the firm lines of his veins bulging in the back of his hand, strewing up his arm to the curves of the well-toned biceps formed beads of sweat in her forehead. "Why did you tell Glenn?"

"He kept asking me who I'd save if I could only save one of you and shit and he insisted that I'd come straight to you," he confessed, registering his free hand cupping her face despite the firm commands his brain shrieked for the contrary. Too spent to continue fighting her, he finally confided to himself the fervor to savor her soft sensation on his coarse skin.

"Just one, huh?" she contemplated, leaning in to his touch, gazes locked. "I'd save you. I'm not implying that you'd need me to. Just that I'd try."

"If shit the fan, better watch out for yourself, you hear me?" he glowered down on her, miserably failing to summon even a wee tinge of anger as her scorching breath kindled the ultimate shreds of his resistance. "I'll get to you."

Carol shuffled closer, snaking an arm around his nape until she was flush against his sternum. "You only told Glenn because he cornered you?" He said nothing, nonchalantly lifting his shoulders just to shamelessly taunt her some more and her face dropped. "You're an asshole, Daryl."

"We've pretty much established that," he chuckled. "And, fyi, I actually thought to hell with it. No reason to hide. They'd find out sooner or later."

Carol squinted at the sun beams percolating the dense foliage of the sparkling light as it ricocheted at the undulated margins of the whishing leaves. Later. He had intended a later.

"I can clear the mess for you if you don't want me anymore," she offered playfully, a thriving smile crinkling the corner of her eyes.

Daryl shook his head and smirked back crookedly. "Ain't no mess to clear. What I told him goes. End of story."

She brushed her lips against his hesitantly and he tilted his head just a notch to avoid her. Impervious to the subtle rejection, she tiptoed, claiming his mouth again. "Daryl-"

"You have to rinse your mouth with bleach if you want me to kiss you again," he griped, arms clamping around her waist nevertheless.

"I will, I promise." She puddled in his embrace, peppering his jaw line with fleeting pecks, unfazed by his superficial grudge not to kiss her back.

"Are we going to that cabin or what?" he heaved, gagging from the volcano of sizzling lust quavering to erupt. "Reckon things are crazy back to the prison. I can use some privacy."

Carol beamed at the implicit connotation that his privacy included her, teeth nibbling his earlobe.

"We best get moving," he suggested reluctantly and snuggled her closer, gaze scanning the trees for any impending menace. "Not the smartest thing in the world just standing here waiting like walker bait."

Humming her assent, she planted a kiss on his rigid mouth, before drifting down at the chafing stubble of his chin. "Motivate me a little?" she requested. "You really think it's possible for the essence of another man to stick on me after tasting you?"

"Trying to avoid the bleach thing?"

"No, no, no," she chanted. "I'll gulp it down if you want me to. Just need a small incentive here."

"How small?" he soughed, shuddering at the moist trail her tongue left in its wake as she sucked his neck.

"Tiny."

Daryl groaned throatily, snaring her lower lip between his. Smugness sprung in his bloodstream, ostracizing insecurities and qualms as her mouth went pliant under his greedy assault and he deepened the kiss, calloused hands framing her face to seize the reins of pace and depth. Eyes rolling, Carol flapped and swayed in the steel vice of his arms, reciprocating with equal craving when he devoured her mouth, but never fighting back for dominance, allowing him to prevail breath after breath as the indisputable sovereign of her body. His tongue was hot and insatiable against hers and soon she was purring in delight. They lingered like that for a long time, lips flexing fluidly.

"Do you really have bleach stored in the cabin?" she mewled in his mouth, panting in sync with him when they broke the demanding kiss.

"No," he chortled. "But I have bandages and disinfectant for the gash, you fool. And a mattress." The last word was stressed with a wink.

An exploratory eyebrow quirked. "Does this mean I'm off the hook now?"

"Not even close. But you're off market and off limits for any other bastard."

"You're-"

"Call me an asshole again and-" he interrupted her only to be instantly hushed by a kiss.

"I was going to say that you're insanely sexy when you're jealous," she moaned. "And I didn't think that was even possible."

"Dunno what you're talking about," he grumbled. "Asshole."

* * *

**I know this wasn't my best story, but I needed something to get back in the game :) Please review if you liked it or have any constructive criticism to provide. That's all it takes to make a girl happy :)**

**Pat83****, I already miss you :)**

**Stay calm, strong and united and Caryl on!**

**Tons of love from me!**

**P.S. Compile a list of your favorites for Kaye's contest. Of course, you don't have to vote for me (I wouldn't with all those amazing writers in here), but it's a brilliant idea that will make the Carylers stronger.**


	41. Because You Loved Me

_**Hey everyone, **_

_**I'm still reeling from the trailer, LOL! Thrilled and scared to death for Carol's fate… Her development looks amazing, almost worthy of her fan fiction counterparts, LOL :) I have shared my concerns with many of you, but what worries me most is not the Daryl/Beth hug. I'm confident it's just a misleading caption, but they both seem very sad, so I'm hoping that she's not comforting him for something that happened to Carol. Now I have to chant to myself that nothing bad is going to happen to our ship :) *nothing bad is going to happen to our ship* *nothing bad is going to happen to our ship* *nothing bad is going to happen to our ship* *nothing bad is going to happen to our ship* Ok, this was so much better! Go Carol, The Last One (from the female characters of the original group) Standing!**_

_**Back to the chapter… It's based on a request by the lovely **__**FinnTheHuman1697**__** who wanted Daryl to forget his anniversary with Carol. Kaye had the same request and delivered it beautifully, so I just kept the core idea and gave a different perspective to that. **_

_**Also in this chapter: "Because you loved me" by Celine Dion (**__**eieball326**__**). It took too long, but I really felt like this song fits perfectly here. **_

_**Many of you wanted smut and you know I can't resist your wishes, so I mustered my courage and did my best to write something hot and sweaty. Don't be too hard with me, ok? Don't know if it's worthy of any fan warning, but anyway… SMUT AHEAD! :D So, Kaye, consider this an early birthday present ;)**_

_**Enjoy my dearies!**_

* * *

"What?" Maggie's head snapped up the moment Carol stepped in the kitchen, but the glistening expectation in her gaze evaporated briskly once she registered the woman's puffy eyes. The breakfast strewed out unfinished on the makeshift counter as she walked towards her. "Happy tears or- God, Carol, what happened?"

But the eloquence to explain was just evading her at the moment. Daryl hadn't come and that summed up pretty much everything. Maggie had ordered her to go and wait for her man in the warden's office last night, because he and Glenn had prepared a date-ish thing for their anniversary and Daryl would join her shortly. So she did. Until she dozed off on the couch anticipating for Daryl to appear in the doorway. When she woke up, right after dawn, it was a huge disappointment to realize that she had slept in there alone all night long and he had never showed.

She cried without even knowing why. Frustrating as it was to have been stood up on their anniversary, there was also a tinge of relief in that. It was awkward when she had first inspected the place, all stashed up with fresh flowers, candles waiting to be lit, and cd player and bottles of wine; yeah, it was just awkward and plain as daylight that Maggie and Glenn were at the helm of organizing this. A scenery staged perfectly for celebration, only Carol's and Daryl's personality traits were altogether omitted. While anticipating for him to arrive, she almost succumbed to a panic attack, unable to visualize them moving freely in there. She knew Daryl was clueless about their anniversary, or anniversaries in general, and she'd much rather forget the past ones with Ed that almost always started with a romantic dinner and ended up with punches and broken bones. Hence all Carol wanted for their special day was to gently remind him and maybe usher him to the nearby pond for a few hours together.

And maybe that was the reason she wept like a baby; because of their baggage and their permanently scarred bodies and past lives, nightmares engraved in their souls with chisels. Had they been different, she would actually look forward on pins and needles for their anniversary. Had they been different, he might never have felt compelled to heed to a meaningless ritual. But soon enough she wiped the tears away. No avail crying over spilt milk. If they were less damaged, it's quite probable they'd never got together in the first place. If they were different, their bond might have never been so special and impenetrable. They weren't a couple, not in the conventional connotations; they were Daryl and Carol, too large to be limited within any definitions.

Glenn had joined Maggie's side and three heads whipped to the door when the clomping sound of boots running bounced off the walls. Daryl stormed in, he and Carol locking gazes as he approached and she could actually hear the rattle of words clogging in his throat at Maggie's and Glenn's presence. His mouth gaped mutely, narrowed eyes now averted from hers as he came to a halt, glaring at the floor.

Glenn regarded them both quizzically, just a mental notch behind Maggie to interpret what them showing up from different directions looking like the devil had beaten them down stood for.

"Why were you in the cell block?" Glenn floundered, eyes flicking to Daryl who gnawed on his thumbnail. "What's wrong guys?"

"I fell asleep," Daryl muttered, eyes downcast.

He was an asshole most of the time, he knew. Whenever everything just weighed too much and the burden of keeping all these people fed and alive was overwhelming, scowling and yelling and throwing fits at her was a safe constant in his life. Behaving like a spoiled child, unfair and mean and hurtful and almost always getting away with it was something she allowed him to do occasionally. There would be no repercussions for his peevish demeanor or crude attitude, Carol would forgive him, and that was the reason he'd be a jerk in the first place. She would just take all the shit he'd throw at her enduringly, with her wide azure eyes locked with his and, when the entire encumbrance was unloaded from his shoulders and his rage had eased off, she would swallow hard and force a forgiving smile or a soft touch on his arm to exempt him of the impending guilt she knew was lurking. Rarely would he apologize openly, of course, it wasn't like him and the proper words evaded him persistently, but he'd always contrive ways to make it up to her, be it a ride on the bike, a joint run, or anything really.

That people celebrated anniversaries was a vague bit of info he always had, but never applied to him. A stranger to human relations, let alone his absolute nescience about the opposite sex or, even worse, about miserably being in love with one particular woman who made his heart skip beats and effectively turned him into a pussy, Daryl spent most of his free time brooding over pretty much everything that concerned her and their relationship status. They had been together, sharing a cell and all, for almost a year now. Almost was the key word when a very distressed Glenn rushed into him inquiring about the plans he had for their anniversary. Daryl was so stunned he actually neglected to kick his ass for sneaking his nosy nose in his private affairs. Apparently Carol had told Maggie, Maggie had told Glenn and Glenn had run to his rescue. His attempt to defend himself, claiming that anniversaries weren't his thing and if Carol wanted anything she'd make sure he knew fell on deaf ears when Glenn retorted that he'd probably end up single again in case he failed to set up something special for her.

He had lost his shit then. Seriously lost it as it dawned on him that he had no fuckin' idea what the feminine whims dictated for such an occasion. One thing he knew beyond doubt was that he was nowhere near losing Carol over something so stupid. If she wanted flowers, she'd have flowers. If she wanted candles, she'd have candles. If she wanted music and dancing, he'd get drunk enough to pull it through, hoping he didn't smash her toes under his boots. In fleeting moments of clarity, he seriously doubted Carol would want any of this; if she wanted to celebrate she'd let him know –aware of how underdeveloped his relationships skills were- and that would probably mean some time alone in the pond. But the reality of anniversaries and relationship obligations had gotten the best of him, so he granted Maggie and Glenn a blank check to do whatever was needed and he'd play his part as sufficiently as he could. And then he forgot and fell asleep. Jesus.

It wasn't his fault, though. It was his screw up, but not his fault. The day had started as any other, Carol and he were the first to get up and head to the kitchen and soon he was hunting in the woods. As much as he was tempted to brag for what Glenn and he had come up with, he kept his trap shut, pretending to have no idea what that particular day was and gave away nothing. Everything flowed smoothly until shit hit the fan around noon with a whole herd of abnormally active walkers attacked the outer fence, the first line of defense in the prison yard, almost knocking it down with their momentum. Most of them had been fighting off the ferocious outbreak until late in the evening under his lead and, by the time Carol was preparing dinner, he was having a shower, having forgotten everything else.

He was dead on his feet, vaguely aware that he missed something important when he sagged on their mattress, thinking that if he bestowed himself two minutes to relax and blow off the tension he'd recall it. But he slumbered the moment his head crushed on the pillow, sleeping like a rock for eight hours straight until the first beams of daylight slowly crept in their cell. Petrified failed to capture the horror he felt when his eyes shot opened and he realized what had happened. And now he was fidgeting, nervously shifting his weight as Carol's eyes bore holes in his face. Jerking away when she reached out to touch his arm, he spun around and fled the prison in a flash.

* * *

Finding him was an easy task. He was plopped down cross-legged by the little pond when she spotted him. _Their_ pond. Each time they'd head there only to stomp into some other residents of the prison in dire need for some fresh air, Daryl would pout his contempt like a petulant child and she'd cry laughing. It was funny how possessive he was with such a trivial thing. But then again, he was always possessive with everything he considered his own, probably because he never really had anything, except his crossbow, Carol and this pond.

Squatting down next to him, she offered a guarded, tight-lipped smile, gaze skimming over his downcast eyes. "Remember when we first met at the quarry?"

"You know it ain't safe coming out here alone," he grumbled, cringing at the walker gunk dripping from her machete.

"You were so scary and I was so afraid of you," she mused with a light nudge on his arm, pondering on days gone by. "But then again I was afraid of anything back then. Bet you hadn't even noticed I existed until I smashed Ed's head."

_For all those times you stood by me  
For all the truth that you made me see  
For all the joy you brought to my life  
For all the wrong that you made right_

_For every dream you made come true  
_

"Can't you just have a normal reaction for once?" he admonished her grumpily, dodging the historical flashback.

Carol heaved a sigh. "What would a normal reaction be?"

"Dunno," Daryl shrugged. "I forgot and fell asleep. Bitching around to make my life hell for a month? Breaking up with me? Punching me? What would a normal woman do to an asshole?"

"Well, we're not normal, you and I, are we?" Carol offered, a mischievous twinkle matching her playful smile and he squinted at her, snorting a humorless laugh.

_For all the love I found in you  
I'll be forever thankful baby  
You're the one who held me up  
Never let me fall  
You're the one who saw me through it all  
_

"What about the first time we kissed? Remember the first time we kissed?" she went on, unfazed by his silence. "God, I thought you'd rip my head off."

"You didn't know any better," he snickered, risking a sidelong glance only to find a face beaming at him with a unique sweetness that swiftly set the foundations of his defensive walls in flames. "Try to molest me like that."

Her hand moved slowly, tugging the mangled thumb out of his mouth. "Couldn't control myself anymore," she confided conspiratorially, nibbling the raw flesh of his finger and watching him suck in a shaky breath at the sensation. "You're too sexy for your own good."

His frown deepened, but one corner of his lips twitched upwards. "Stawp."

_You were my strength when I was weak  
You were my voice when I couldn't speak  
You were my eyes when I couldn't see  
You saw the best there was in me  
_

"You went ballistic," she drawled emphatically, a light giggle soaring in the air between them.

As his cranky mood ebbed away, Daryl arrested himself mimicking her amused countenance. "And you were coming out unhinged with all that stuttering of yours," he murmured.

"I thought I'd never see you again after that night," Carol said softly, interlacing their fingers. "When you came to my cell the next day, it was pretty much the last thing I expected."

Nodding his head contemplatively, expression plunged in bittersweet memories, he finally grimaced, face scrunched up. "Wasn't done making a fool of myself."

A gargling laugh wriggled out Carol's lips despite her honest effort to stifle it. "Come on, Daryl, it wasn't that bad!"

"The first time we had sex?" he sneered, brows curved and forehead creased. "Bad is an understatement," he huffed, squeezing her hand. "Epic flunk. I went all animal like, almost ate you alive."

"Already told you," Carol hummed, her free hand cupping his cheek. "Too sexy for your own good. That bite on the back of my neck was such a turn on."

_Lifted me up when I couldn't reach  
You gave me faith coz you believed  
I'm everything I am  
Because you loved me  
_

"Shit, Carol," he groaned his dismay, grudgingly leaning into her touch. "You're such a perv."

"It did get better, our sex life," she laughed wholeheartedly. "And now it's… Amazing… Breathtaking… Blow minding…"

"Trying to perk me up, huh?" he grouched, eyes sealed in an attempt to tame down the guilt still roaring in his gut, pads scribbling abstract patterns on her thigh.

Shuffling even closer, she grabbed both his hands, staring at him dead in the eye. "Actually, yes," Carol said matter-of-factly. "All I want is to show you how far we've come. Two years ago you were a skittish wolf and I was a fearful mouse and now look at us… I'm stronger and you're looking at me doe-eyed, like a Norman Reedus copycat."

"Who the hell is this guy?"

"Just a TV star I used to moon over," she brushed it off nonchalantly. "Nothing to be jealous about. You're sexier than him and I didn't think that was even possible."

"At least you get to live some of your sick fantasies during the apocalypse," he mumbled, head ducked bashfully.

_You gave me wings and made me fly  
You touched my hand I could touch the sky  
I lost my faith, you gave it back to me  
You said no star was out of reach  
You stood by me and I stood tall  
I had your love I had it all  
_

Carol leaned forward, no more than a few inches from his face. "Daryl," she whispered, husky voice dropping a full octave. "It's ok. Glenn and Maggie are great but we're not like them by any stretch of the imagination. We are who we are."

"No, no, no," he ranted, head shaking intently. "Don't settle for nothing. You deserve better."

"Better than you?" she scoffed, pressing her forefinger on his lips to shush his self-degrading ramblings. "Oh, please, that doesn't even exist."

He glanced up at her, nervous fingers fiddling with the hem of her blue top. "I just wanted to do something for you. Sorry I screwed up."

"You're not Prince Charming, Daryl. Thank God! Princes are dull and corny." She tilted his head to keep his gaze upright. "You're a knight, protective and selfless and unrefined."

"Ain't no knight without an armor," he sulked, forehead creased.

"It might be made of leather and stained with blood and dirt, but it's there." Carol regarded him encouragingly, palm darting over his vest, until she extracted a shy smile. "Slow dancing under candlelight? That's not who you are, Daryl, and quite frankly, it's not who I am either. Grand gestures and pompous declarations are not our thing. A look or a touch works better for us."

_I'm grateful for each day you gave me  
Maybe I don't know that much  
But I know this much is true  
I was blessed because I was loved by you_

A fluid move hauled her up. Carol squealed and Daryl chortled as he maneuvered her in his lap. "It wasn't when you smashed that asshole's head with the pickaxe," he muttered, eyes roving over her face.

Settling cozily in his arms, cradled like a baby, she regarded him innocently. "Wasn't what?"

"The first time I noticed you," he maundered barely audibly, a spectrum of crimson hues coloring his features. "But it was the first time I saw you."

"Still more observant than I was. It took Sophia to get lost for me to really see you."

_You were my strength when I was weak  
You were my voice when I couldn't speak  
You were my eyes when I couldn't see  
You saw the best there was in me_

He stooped over her without breaking eye contact, but verbalizing his ruminations was a painfully underdeveloped trait of his personality. "Haven't even told you that-"

"That you love me?" Carol picked on the sentence when his voice trailed off. An imperceptible nod from his flustered face and a knowing, ear to ear grin cracked instinctively across her lips. "You're not an open book, but you're not exactly a riddle for me either. At least not anymore," she said plainly, a bell of confidence ringing undisputedly in her tone.

This was beyond embarrassment for his poor standards. Maybe the profession of feelings was something normal for the average person, it certainly seemed like a piece of cake for Carol, but for Daryl Dixon it equaled embracing the extremes, light years away from his comfort zone. Yet there he perched, with not even the most ephemeral urge to quail and bolt despite his laborious huffing and puffing. Undeterred by the smoldering redness of his skull, he peered over the lake just to assert that the cool water was still there in the remote case the charring blush sparked into a blaze, before looking back at her.

"Good," he exhaled raggedly and his Adam's apple bobbed abruptly when he gulped down a huge lump blistering in his throat. "'Cause I do."

Cool fingers threaded through his hair as she gazed at him with sheer adoration. "I know," Carol soothed, the soft tint of her voice sequestering all insecurities looming ominously in the center of his chest one by one. "I love you too."

"I know."

_Lifted me up when I couldn't reach  
You gave me faith coz you believed  
I'm everything I am  
Because you loved me  
_

"I can do better," he promised gruffly with unswerving obstinacy, calloused hand stroking the freckled paleness of her face. "Next year's gonna be a fuckin' blast."

"So you intend to stick with me for another year?" she whispered, planting a kiss on his chest curves, delineating toned beneath the garment of his shirt. "Thought I was a pain in the ass."

Quirking a brow, Daryl gazed at her tentatively. "You are, but that's beside the point here."

"Intriguing as it may sound to take full advantage of Daryl Dixon owing me one, I have a confession to make," she stated solemnly, face morphing into a mask of deathly seriousness in a blink. "This is a leap year."

He narrowed his eyes puzzled, eyelashes batting as he strived to process the underlying hint of the information. "A leap year?" he croaked incredulously, voice strained.

"Yep," she beamed. "Don't forget to thank Hershel for keeping track later."

"A leap year?" Parroted blank words, hesitantly welcoming the stroke of unforeseen fluke. He was a lucky bastard. And he'd never believed lucky and Dixon would someday cram up in the same phrase. Maggie was wrong. Glenn was wrong. Yesterday was nobody's anniversary for it was a fuckin' leap year and Hershel had been counting. He had screwed nothing, but was going to fix it anyway.

"I only remembered earlier and ran to let you know that-" Nuzzling in his embrace, she was cut off mid-sentenced when an unyielding mouth collided with hers, arms wrapping around his neck on instinct.

_You were always there for me  
The tender wind that carried me  
A light in the dark shining your love into my life  
You've been my inspiration  
Through the lies you were the truth  
My world is a better place because of you  
_

"I fuckin' love you," Daryl rasped between soft kisses, the thud of his throbbing heart reverberating deafeningly in the confined space of a body suddenly too narrow to absorb the true vehemence of his emotion.

"Say it a few more times and next year I'm gonna drug you to make sure you forget," she moaned, reciprocating fervently.

He snorted a laugh before claiming her mouth again to sweep in his hot tongue, dictating a slow, passionate pace, lips flexing fluently and tongues waltzing in sync, enticed in a sultry choreography. Carol snuggled closer until she lay flush against his sternum and then mewled her frustration to further lessen the inexistent distance, as if the ultimate physical proximity was nowhere near satisfactory for the level of intimacy she yearned for. Daryl squeezed her tighter in response, aware that she breathed the minimum amount of air as she withered ensnared between a greedy mouth smothering her airway and a steel limb pawing her ribcage, threatening to snap the underlying bones like twigs.

_You were my strength when I was weak  
You were my voice when I couldn't speak  
You were my eyes when I couldn't see  
You saw the best there was in me_

The kiss deepened and soon enough he was ravaging her mouth. Carol gasped for air when his lips slid down the crook of her neck, the moist path in their wake hurling an electric quake in her lower belly, so engulfing and consuming that her surroundings immersed in an opaque haziness. Not registering that she was being lowered down until her back rested on the lush greenness of flourishing vegetation, the world swirled around frantically and she exploded in a whimpering squirm of sheer need and craving only to be hushed immediately when his insatiable mouth assaulted hers again, lips pliant as his teeth grazed them. Eyes rolled in the back of her head and her fingers plowed in the soil, fisting and uprooting handfuls of dirt and grass in dire urge to rivet the plummeting sensation as it prevailed, numbness replenishing her former awareness.

Obeying his throaty command to look at him, her eyes fluttered open arduously to ogle him lustfully through a crevice; bleary vision and woozy mind transfixed on the cerulean gaze staring right back at her as he hovered meticulously over her prone form. The sound of threads violently torn apart was belatedly identified as her newly ripped tank top when the tip of his tongue toyed with prowess around her hard nipples. A pair of steel hands pinned her arms over her head and she bristled like a cat at her impotence to hug him and fight back for dominance when his scratchy stubble darted over her naked breasts. She toed off her boots tediously and he freed her long enough for her to shimmy out of her jeans while he struggled out of his own.

_Lifted me up when I couldn't reach  
You gave me faith coz you believed  
I'm everything I am  
Because you loved me  
_

Arching her back when his tongue trailed the sensitive tissue of her clit and long, masculine fingers inserted into her vagina, she was swooning hard after a few minutes, losing track of place and time, as an intense orgasmic wave whooshed over her. Enchanted into droning his name on and on like a gospel, Carol released a full volume euphoric shriek, flapping like a spineless heap of sinews. Sharp teeth dug absently in her lower lip to muzzle whatever high-pitched timbres were still clawing up her throat and she winced in pain as the metallic pang of blood flooded her mouth. Daryl's soft mouth covered hers in a flash, his wet tongue lingering to lick the fissure, sucking it dexterously until the sting subsided.

His pulse hammered violently when they locked gazes again and he was nearly blinded at the glow of feral ebullience oozing off her. Slender arms locked around his nape and a muffled 'I love you' caressed his ear lobe, instants before she littered his jaw line with fleeting pecks. The bulge between his legs vibrated, aflame and harder than an igneous rock as a heart bouncing override pumped combers of seething blood into his shaft. It was more of a slow dance the way they both swayed sensationally against each other when he bulked in her slit the full length of his erection, her legs clamped around his waist vise-like to press him harder and deeper inside her in the best possible angle. Rocking and undulating smoothly as the scorching friction escalated, they succumbed in the sensation of simultaneous perishing and regeneration, zoned out of the world encompassing them in a murky veil.

_You were my strength when I was weak  
You were my voice when I couldn't speak  
You were my eyes when I couldn't see  
You saw the best there was in me  
_

Capturing his parted lips moments before he reached his crescendo, she devoured him mercilessly and Daryl came with an unleashed guttural groan that kindled her open mouth, Carol's name slurring out in a raspy sound. Every single nerve vaulted heatedly beneath his skin as he kept shuddering with the aftershocks of his climax and eventually sagged on top of her, bracing as much of his weight as he could on his quivery elbows.

She framed his face, both panting in unison in each other's mouth until he inched back to congregate his composure, permitting her chest to billow upwards in relief. He grinned at her cockily, ignoring the beads of salty droplets springing down his temples, drenched strands of overgrown hair drizzling wetness on the shining sheen of sweat already blanketing her skin. Carol smiled back drowsily as trembling fingers shunted the unruly wisps behind his ear.

_Lifted me up when I couldn't reach  
You gave me faith coz you believed  
I'm everything I am  
Because you loved me  
_

"Happy fuckin' anniversary," Daryl swaggered, still hyperventilating.

"You nailed it," Carol giggled heavy-lidded, trying to recover. "Literally."

_I'm everything I am  
Because you loved me_

"How?" he soughed. "How did that scared mouse from the quarry turn into you?"

"Because you loved me."

"_Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery." ― __J.K. Rowling__, __Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_

* * *

_**Yep, that was it, first attempt to smut :) Probably the last one too, as a barely 1000 word scene took me three days to write, LOL! At least, I hope you enjoyed it. Maybe even needing a cold shower right now?**_

_**Anyway, hope I did justice to your requests :) **_

_**A huge thank you to all the guests and especially to **__**justinrae**__** for the love and the encouragement. I wish I could get back to you :)**_

_**I'll try to fix my scattered updates, but the job hunting is taking the better of me and seriously messing with my muse… Till next time… **_


	42. Out Of The Fence (Part I)

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**Maybe I neglect to say it often enough, but thank you all for the love and support :) I'm crazy busy and really behind in my replies, but I'm working on it… Just bear with me a little bit more, please!**_

_**About this chapter… Heavy stuff! I'm between a rock and a hard place lately and I guess it's reflected on my writing. Also, "Hard Sun", by Eddy Vebber (**__**Haitus80**__**). Epic Caryl song if you ask me. I twisted the meaning in every possible way within the story's context.**_

**_Don't forget to vote for the Caryl contest :) PM to SOA loving mom your favorites in the following categories: Best Overall, Best Original Storyline, Nicest Author, Best A/U, Best use of an OC, Best Deaths, Most Feels :) _**

_**My gratitude to Peta2 is given. Sometimes being my beta is nothing short of a feat of heroism.**_

_**The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

"I don't think he's coming back tonight." Rick's husky whisper reverberated deafeningly in the dead silence of the wee hours. No cicadas, not even the rustling timbre of leaves fluttering to the breeze, or the quivering tree branches of the woods surrounding the prison yard wriggled the utter stillness of what seemed to her as an eternal night.

Carol peered over her shoulder as Rick approached and eased himself next to her on the perch. "You think he will? Ever?" She sighed, regarding him blankly through a set of swollen eyes as she wiped the silent tears streaming down her face.

Sighing heavily, gaze scrutinizing the puff of air evanescing in the tranquil darkness, his voice rang twisted, straining for inexistent confidence. "At some point."

"It's been a week, Rick." A fierce gust of wind muzzled her gasp and Rick latched the curve of her nape as her chest heaved, bottling up her ragged breathing.

"Hey," he cooed, tugging her closer. "He hasn't disappeared. He's still around, ain't he?" It was the truth. Every afternoon Daryl would emerge out of the adjacent tree line, shoulders hunched and eyes downcast, and chuck the game he had killed by the fence before disappearing again into the woods, not sharing as much as a word with any of them.

"Yeah…" Carol drawled acridly, features scrunching up into a grimace. "He's still feeding us. Can't escape this obligation now."

Brushing his parched lips across her temple, Rick squeezed her tightly when she clasped his hand. "You did the right thing," he stated solemnly. "He had the right to know."

"He feels cheated," she whispered, meeting his eyes again, clearly engaged in an inner conflict with her hopes and better judgment. "I didn't know, I swear."

A forefinger pressed against her lips hushed her abruptly. "I believe you. No reason to explain anything to me."

"After Sophia they had told me it'd be impossible," Carol scoffed, dodging his reassurances about the decency of her intentions, choked up from the overwhelming need to elucidate the situation to someone she trusted; and Rick was the person she trusted and loved the most, hot on Daryl's heels. And Daryl was long gone, had fled the concrete prison walls a whole of maybe ten seconds after she detonated the pregnancy bomb, only for the sharp pellets to blow up in her face. "Guess I should have taken it with a grain of salt."

At a loss for words when she hastily broke the bleary eye contact, Rick summoned every tinge of his patronizing skills to amp up her inherent optimism. "You are safe here, you know that, right?"

She shook her head slowly, immersed in a gloomy reverie, gaze skimming frantically in the pitch black foliage of the forest edge. "Without Daryl…" The words writhed out muffled and her voice trailed off.

"Daryl or no Daryl," Rick stressed, brow furrowed revealing his deep grasp of the situation, and the grip around her fingers clamped vice-like, conveying support. "You belong with us, Carol, no matter what."

"Soon enough I'm only gonna be a burden again, Rick," she countered calmly, eyeing him through a stormy slit as a grim submission swamped her tone. "Let alone that this group can't afford losing Daryl."

"It's not a contest between you and Daryl. We want you both."

"But you need him more," Carol retorted emphatically, generously offering a tight-lipped smirk ignoring the bloated lump clogging up her throat.

"That's debatable," Rick dismissed her swiftly, shrugging her comment off. "That's debatable," he reiterated, accentuating each rustled word when she shot him a half-incredulous, half-derisive look. "And way beside the point here. You're different, with different chores. Can't afford losing any of you."

His unimpeded kindness moved her deeply, reminding her of the honorable, considerate and warmhearted sheriff she had met at the quarry once upon a time, almost an eternity ago, before the atrocities they journeyed through claimed their toll on him. Registering her apprehension, Rick etched his forehead, nodding softly and she finally derived the courage to voice her worst and, in a way, most sinful ruminations.

"I don't even know if I want this baby," she confided conspiratorially, voice barely audible under her breath as if fearful that comeuppance hearkened nearby, pending to strike in retaliation of her desecration. "At my age and under these conditions…" she croaked. "What if I can't protect it, like Sophia?" Slapping her mouth with her palm the very moment the name of her deceased daughter was grudgingly articulated, her chin flexed and trembled uncontrollably until she was snuggled against Rick's chest, sobbing violently for a few minutes.

"He's still here, Carol," he rasped soothingly when she drew back, hiccups and sniffles perforating her frame. "Outside the fence, ok. But he's still making sure we're alright. He's still making sure we have what we need. What you need. Give the bastard some time. He'll come around and you'll make a decision together. He's just scared."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Nodding absently, she allowed his comfort to sink in to her and gently caress her bruised core as a comfortable silence soared, wafting the stillness between them.

Comprehension and sincere empathy warmed up his lately aloof countenance when she squinted at him, a grateful smile crinkling the corners of her red-rimmed eyes. "We always knew I could make him run," Carol snickered humorlessly, her elbow plowing lightly in Rick's ribcage. "Bet you had no idea how fast, though."

An imperceptible twitch in the corner of his lips was the sole giveaway of his unfaltering poker face. "If he was more responsive to small talk, I'd be all in his face, screaming that he should be grateful the baby his woman is carrying is his own," Rick deadpanned, staring at her steadfastly. "For some of us that wasn't even a given."

Carol gawked at him, jaw hanging agape before they both huffed a feigned chuckle in unison. It escalated briefly in an unreserved, candid chortle and peaked with a full-blown, teary laughter that verged on hysteria, quaking their figures. "Oh, Rick," she panted when their spasms ebbed away.

"Just admit that when it comes to partner malfunction you're only running for second," he sneered mockingly at his own self-awareness.

"Ok, then. Ok," she complied easily. "You're King Jinx. Happy?"

"Already am," he snorted. "Might as well get the title too." Hauling himself laboriously off the frigid floor, Rick trudged a few tedious steps and arched the cramped muscles of his back, before outstretching a hand to Carol. "Come inside."

"Go ahead." She skipped the invitation with a head shake. "I'll come later. Besides, I can't stand the way they're staring at me. Everyone's blaming me that he left."

"Have you told anyone?" he asked concerned, crouching in front of her.

"Just Maggie, Bob and you. I'd like to keep it like this for now. I'll tell Michonne tomorrow, need some stuff from the run."

Rick nodded, inwardly thankful that they had crossed paths with Bob, a medic contributing to the group with his invaluable knowledge.

"He's here, you know," Carol whispered tentatively, dragging him out his thoughts, gaze once again transfixed in the trees. "Watching. He hunts during the day but every night he's here."

Regarding her quizzically, Rick couldn't tame down the suspicion that she had lost her mind. "How do you know?"

She shrugged. "I just do."

"Do you want me to go look for him?"

"Daryl in the woods?" Carol snorted. "We'd never find him unless he wants to be found. And he clearly doesn't."

Heaving a sigh, he suddenly knew what she was doing out in the cold every night, wrapping her sweater around her waist. "Is that why you're staying here every night?"

"I feel closer to him this way," she admitted, lips pouting. "See, you may be King Jinx, but I'm the indisputable Queen Pathetic."

"Oh, please," he chuckled. "We'll talk again when you start arguing with his ghost."

Carol shook her head, the high spirits of earlier long gone, but Rick didn't faze.

"I really believe he'll come around," he offered, cupping the curve of her shoulder. "But if he doesn't, _If_ he doesn't, your child will always have a father and you'll never be alone as long as I'm alive."

Her hand covered the one on her shoulder. "Thank you, Rick," she said sweetly, blinking away the tears swelling to spill. "I love you."

"I love you more," he smiled, before walking back inside the building. "And I love that bastard, too."

* * *

Roy Dixon was a scumbag. Literally. He was of those people whose purpose in life had remained obscene and most definitely unfulfilled, confided to simply hurting and tearing apart everyone who dared to step closer to him. He had nothing to offer to the world, people, not even to his family, wife or two kids. Women basher, child beater, drug dealer, crook, guilty of any possible criminal offense including murder, drunkard, ex convict; Roy Dixon was the hellish reincarnation of the bugaboo in flesh and bones. Indirectly accountable for his wife's death when she plunged into cigarettes, booze and drugs, assessing this route as the only way out of Roy's reality and straightway responsible for each belt scar and tobacco burn incised on his children's backs. Having crippled his boys through and through, squelching their innocent souls into mush, he had eventually kicked the bucket in a random bar fight, losing his life aimlessly just like he had lived it, when Daryl was nineteen and Merle thirty.

_When I walk beside her, I am the better man  
When I look to leave her, I always stagger back again_

It had taken the end of the world and the gory rise of the dead to supersede the vanquishing humanity; it had taken a little girl getting lost in the woods and him going all stages of crazy and reckless and hands down suicidal to track her; it had taken a mourning mother looking up at him with blind, unswerving faith like he was some kind of God, but now Daryl knew he wasn't like his father. At least not entirely like him. Somewhere inside him kindled a spark of honor. Maybe Carol was a colossal chump, deluding herself that spinning straw into gold was feasible, but she was a convincing chump, nonetheless. And maybe he was just a sap, but Carol's brainwash or not, that credence had saturated his mindset to the point that each dawn encompassed him with revived self-esteem and insatiable famine to become the man she considered him to be.

And then she just told him that she was pregnant, shaking like a leaf. He didn't know if it was the ultimate cosmic joke or the utter impious blasphemy, if it was the universe jibing to their detriment or him provoking it to crush them all with his profane audacity to want, just _want_. After Merle's death, he was the last one standing from the Dixon clan to guarantee that this defective blood would finally pass away with him. That would be his personal gift to this new era, on behalf of the Dixons. Sure the world would see better days without this aberrant DNA.

_Once I built an ivory tower, So I could worship from above  
When I climb down to be set free, She took me in again_

This pregnancy dangled over his head like a double-edged sword, imposing an unbearable encumbrance. There was no wining this. He'd rather pull the trigger to blow his brains out himself than risk hurting that child. Carol had reassured and consoled him that he posed no jeopardy for her, but a baby? A child? That propelled him into a whole new level of commitment and responsibility. If genes bore any significance, Roy was still hibernating in his bloodstream, drizzling venom in his soul like viscous, putrefying pus seeping through a fissure of infected tissue, stealthily tainting his quiescent potential. A gangrenous wound, reeking decay. He had it under control, vector of Roy's germ, but not currently ill from the hereditary disease himself.

The real question was, until when? Until when would he contrive novel schemes to cheat fate and maintain that sinister side buried deep in his gut? Until when before that avalanche of rotten slime gushed out, devouring everything that really mattered to him in its wake? Carol would never manage to intercept the torrent once the concrete dam cracked an inch. That's all that was required for hell to break loose; a cranny and the valor she'd recruit to leash his animalistic instincts would be of zero significance once they gained the upper hand. How long did he have until then? If he was anything like his father, and he knew he was, he wouldn't even recognize her every time the switch in his brain flipped. Was he? He would never risk a definitive verdict based on firsthand, trial and error experience. The stakes were just too high.

_There's a big, A big hard sun  
Beating on the big people, In the big hard world_

He had almost hit her once, back in Hershel's farm, right after Sophia stumbled out of the barn… And having inspected his parents closely and summoning even the tiniest reminiscent, he knew that was all it required. One slip, one instant of weakness, one glimpse of the beast roaring and squirming, mercilessly mincing and gnawing on his innards; one single misstep and neither Carol nor the child would stand a chance the moment Roy prevailed. Having inspected his parents closely and summoning even the tiniest reminiscent, he also knew it was rather a riddle of _when_ and not of _if_ it was going to happen. That curse encroaching on his soul, bound to take over and inflict its dominance some day. The day he'd let his guard down, reassured and confident that he, Daryl Dixon, son of Roy Dixon, was the better man, worthy of Carol, worthy of a life with her, worthy of a family with her, worthy of some kind of future and perspective and happiness, that'd be the day that everything would evanesce in a wisp of smoke.

_When she comes to greet me, She is mercy at my feet  
I see her inner charm, She just throws it back at me_

And eventually she would leave him, flee as fast and far as possible, like Merle. Or 'leave' him like his mother left Roy, mutely splattering in his face that even death was a vastly more preferable option than life with him. Sure they could lose each other to walkers every single moment of every single day, but somehow this menace was only the tip of the iceberg for him. Physical threat they could deal with, or they couldn't. It's not like they had much of a say in this. The willful abandonment, though; Carol leaving due to being sick of him was a thought he couldn't contemplate without gasping for air. Because it seemed inescapable and would haunt him irrevocably as the indisputable emblem of his ludicrous fiasco to maintain his grip on what he cherished the most and used to be his.

Gathering his mettle for a face to face showdown about the pregnancy with Carol was out of question. She'd persuade him again, as always was the case with her, that he was better than that and that their future would be better than his ominous visualizations of it, blatantly snubbing the abundance of past and present evidence clearly demonstrating the opposite. Her steel conviction couldn't be justified by any stretch of her generosity and benevolence, yet she'd achieve to manipulate him into a u-turn with her indomitable pluck and staunch obstinacy. And then she and the baby would embrace a lethal danger.

_Once I dug an early grave, To find a better land  
She just smiled and laughed at me, And took her rules back again_

Never had he divulged to her that there was always this melee afoot, roiling and churning his marrow. Deep down it was always Roy versus Carol, the two gladiator in the duel and, had it not been a pitiful tragedy that his mind was taunting him like that, the mere idea would have been hilarious. But Carol held an undecipherable, almost otherworldly power on the Dixon clan, luring them, enchanting them like a fuckin' Dixon whisperer. She had survived both Ed and Merle. Outliving the first, confronting the second. She was strong, stronger than the strongest sons of bitches he had ever met; her sublime mental and emotional omnipotence compensating effortlessly for any physical vulnerability. The only one he knew careless and dauntless enough to provoke Roy in a hand to hand combat for Daryl's soul. Carol was stronger than him, not in any conventional way, yet substantially so. Maybe he could have her head ripped and served in a dish before she blinked. Yet Carol could have him diddling on the ground without a single move; just by impaling him with her melancholic, cerulean gaze, not even twitching her small finger, and he was bereft of every protective shield, stripped and bare and exposed at her mercy.

_There's a big, A big hard sun  
Beating on the big people, In the big hard world_

All these fears were a hundred per cent real. But never constituted more than half of the story. There was something else too, a dread so consuming he couldn't even avow it to himself. That she hadn't endeavored in a witch hunting striving to uproot the kindness blossoming inside him beneath the multiple layers of aloofness, enmity and seething tempers. That she was right about him. That he could muster the courage to defeat Roy in an open battlefield. That he was no white trash redneck, but her personal man of honor. And that she would abandon him nevertheless. A life full of bogeymen, or just ghosts at best. He had always been afraid of them, but nothing scared him more than Carol and the sovereignty she held over him.

_When I go to cross that river, She is comfort by my side  
When I try to understand, She just opens up her hands_

That was the real joust in the snake pit. Roy, his mother and Merle standing on the right, the ones that had already hurt him, further rampaging his tormented mind. Carol and their unborn child on the left, perching precisely were his heart used to beat nonchalantly, innocent until proven guilty, with the onus to carry the can. And Daryl in the middle, vacillating dubiously back and forth. Tip to the right and he'd sign his one way ticket to complete solitude. Tip to the left and he'd fidget nude in front of her, risking to be wiped off the map.

Hence he stood numb on the spot, irresolute on whether he was afraid for them, for whatever he was capable to do to Carol and the baby, or afraid of them, of the jurisdiction his love bestowed upon them to trample him down. Terrified like a little boy to hurt those he loved the most, terrified even more to be hurt by them, rationing out which fright weighed the unbearable burden inside him would remain an unattainable task for as long as he shriveled away from facing full frontal both sides of the coin flopping in the air. The quandary wasn't head or tails. It was not a snare or an escape. Both sides were identical. Heads and heads or tails and tails. Both sides were suffocating fears. Hurt his loved ones or be hurt by them. Hurt, the ubiquitous common denominator.

_There's a big, A big hard sun  
Beating on the big people, In the big hard world_

Too frail to break free of the shackles and opening himself up to the possibility of getting hurt with his own free volition, he still had moments of clarity when he knew that he was the one that had already hurt. Only this comprehension was of no avail. That hammering heart walloping in his chest could never be allowed to vault freely into Carol's hands, however, for all he could aspire to would be her clemency. If she didn't feel very charitable in a particular day, she could squish it into ashes whenever she felt like it, governed by her whims. Fleeting, irrational and point blank illogical thoughts. And instead of overruling them swiftly, vindicating Carol from those false accusations, he clung to them like they were the word of God or something. She was glowing like a guardian angel but she could easily be a masqueraded treacherous demon beneath the façade of sheer adoration she always wore to gaze up at him. Denial was his solace, his way out of the deadlock and Daryl was always adept at untying slipknots, tangible or fictitious ones. Truth be told, he was afraid of Carol's love more than he had ever been afraid of Roy's hatred. Hatred was a familiar muddle, love was uncharted territory. Hatred he knew, love he dreaded.

_Once I stood to lose her, And I saw what I had done  
Bowed down and threw away the hours, Of her garden and her sun_

Drawn to each other, like a moth hovering around the flame, lured by the flickering sanguine of its waltzing grace, not blinded by the dazzling light and impervious to the scorching blaze. Resplendent, gleeful wings flapping in delight despite the searing embrace until devoured by the roaring hellfire in a thunderous crescendo of shattering ordeal and simultaneous exhilaration. And then the flame was condemned to sputter and die, wretched and deserted, for it only existed with the sole purpose of being mortally worshiped by a naïve moth, those twinkling and trembling sparks shrinking on the wane.

But who was the moth and who was the flame? Distributing roles was next to inconceivable as they both seemed to constantly switch parts during this fatal dance around each other, blurring the conspicuous boundaries of black and white into a spectrum of grey-tinged hues until moth and flame, two formerly separate, distinct existences were consummated into one, stuck in an infinite regress until both were eternally interwoven in the inextricable, unidentifiable flecks of smoldering ambers. Moth and flame, flame and moth, destined to gravitate towards each other like himself and Carol, until both were perished. He didn't wish that for either of them. The regality of the overall predicament was nothing but a meaningless, transcendental metaphor.

So, no. The moment was gone and his head snapped up in a flash. No one could hurt him, 'cause no one could secure such a grip on him. He wouldn't grant a living soul with this level of authority on him, not even Carol. Hurting someone required ownership and he didn't belong to anyone but himself. He was the danger, not the one in danger. He chose to be. Because his compulsions, he could bridled. By leaving. By turning his back and walking away. His love on the other hand, he couldn't.

_So I tried to want her, I turned to see her weep  
40 days and 40 nights, And it's still coming down on me_

The die was cast then. By the time Maggie stormed inside the prison to get Carol, not casting a second peek to the guard tower she left empty, Daryl had jumped on his bike, fired up the engine with an abrupt jerk of his leg and was already riding fast through the gates, ignoring Glenn's heated protestations. He spared just a glimpse on his side mirror to see Carol sprinting in the yard as the distance between them soared, before squaring his shoulders and allowing the nippy fall breeze to whip his face, misty gaze transfixed blankly on the horizon. Whether he was coming back or not, he had no idea.

* * *

_**Thank you all for reading :) Promise to struggle for a second update this week...**_

_**Personally, I have a soft spot for poetry. In case anyone is interested, I couldn't keep this one out of my mind while writing this chapter:**_

_You said: "I'll go to another country, go to another shore,  
find another city better than this one.  
Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong  
and my heart -like something dead- lies buried.  
How long can I let my mind moulder in this place?  
Wherever I turn, wherever I look,  
I see the black ruins of my life, here,  
where I've spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally."_

_You won't find a new country, won't find another shore.  
This city will always pursue you.  
You'll walk the same streets, grow old  
in the same neighborhoods, turn grey in these same houses.  
You'll always end up in this city. Don't hope for things elsewhere:  
there's no ship for you, there's no road.  
Now that you've wasted your life here, in this small corner,  
you've destroyed it everywhere in the world._

_The City, Constantine P. Cavafy__ (Translated by Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard)_


	43. Out Of The Fence (Part II)

_**Hey everyone,**_

_**This one comes with great delay as it was meant to be Kaye's b-day present *sigh* Happy Birthday, Kaye :) Hope you like how this played out, even five days later than expected. You are a precious little gem, the mama bear of every Caryler in this site! I'm as grateful as a person can possibly be to you and your awesome support! **_

_**Also in this chapter, "Ghosts That We Knew", by Mumford & Sons (**__**Chastyre**__**). Honestly? There was no way to do justice to such a wonderful song… Hope someone writes a better fic about it someday, because the song and the performance and the meaning are simply haunting! Get the ball rolling, people *wink wink* And, yes! This one is the last song fic for those of you who hate them!**_

_**I know that Part I was pretty heavy and boring for many of you, so I tried to make it up for you this time with a lot of dialogues :)**_

_**Peta2 and perfectvelvet have joined forces to save you from my errors and I'm doing my best to take full advantage of them. Tons of love and gratitude to both of them!**_

_**The Walking Dead belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC. No copyright infringement intended.**_

_**Enjoy, my dearies!**_

* * *

"What's up?"

Not even the slightest sound wriggled out his sealed lips; the instantly deepening crease of his brow was the only sign that the harshly articulated words had indeed reached his ears.

Rick hadn't even stepped out of the car, eyeing Daryl through the lowered window. Undeterred by the complete lack of response he kept his icy gaze transfixed on the hunter who was glaring boldly right back at him. "You called me on the radio," he went on. "Need something?"

Peeling himself off the rock where he had been waiting, Daryl ambled closer to the car, gait pretentiously easy and unhurried. "How are things in the prison?" he rumbled, casting sidelong glances at Rick, words barely making sense.

"Quiet," their leader responded quickly.

Locking gazes, they shared a hard look and Daryl's stomach twisted and churned at the sight of thinly veiled anger radiating off his friend's stance as Rick's elbow wedged between him and the window frame. Words swirled frantically around his tongue and evaporated briskly, like an inner traitor permanently dwelling in his mouth to demand he'd stay mute, making a fool of himself whenever circumstances rose, demanding him to man up and back up his choices. Truth was, he had nothing to say, simply because he could neither muster the verbalization to ask the questions burning his gut nor make a case to exonerate himself.

"And everyone's fine if that's what you're really concerned about," Rick bristled as Daryl pawed the side view mirror and braced the other arm against the car to shore himself up. "Carol's doing well." Inhaling a deep breath he answered the unspoken question that instantly flooded his interlocutor's grim expression. "Yeah, she told me. Didn't leave her much of a choice there. Bob and Michonne know as well."

Daryl nodded intensely, but otherwise remained completely silent. It was rare not deriving courage from Rick's presence. He usually just threw his shit all over the place and Rick would support him, making him feel better about himself, like only a real brother would. Not this time, though. Rick wasn't backing him up, Rick wasn't on his side. Rick was judging his choices and disapproving his decisions and condemning his behavior. And it only made him feel even more embarrassed and humiliated, even less honorable. Because, somehow, that strict face reflected the expression he knew he'd glance up at a mirror had he been brave enough to stand in front of one. But Daryl had been avoiding mirrors like the plague for the past ten days, assessing it simply impossible to stare into the eyes of a man who had abandoned a pregnant woman on the grounds of fear. And Rick was the incorporation of this guilty conscience, reluctant to bestow him absolution.

Shifting uncomfortably in the driver's seat, Rick was the one to speak up again, fingertips drumming on the steering wheel. "Are we done here?" he asked coldly. "'Cause I have to get back. Not all of us snatch the luxury to disappear for days whenever things get rough."

Wincing at the vehemence of the now spoken indictment, Daryl gritted his teeth, knuckles turning white as his steel grip threatened to rip the mirror off the hinges. "It's better for her this way," he grumbled, voice edgy.

"You keep telling yourself that, Daryl," Rick bit out, snorting his indignation. "You're no danger to Carol or the baby, everyone knows that. You're not gonna hurt them, at least physically, 'cause you already have a pregnant woman crying 24-7 back in the prison. You're just scared that if you allow yourself to love them too much and then lose one of them it will kill you. But you know what? You look like a fuckin' shipwreck, so if that's about protecting yourself, you don't do a great job either."

"What do you know about it?" Daryl barked in his face with a violent kick on the car that sent a piercing pain up to his thigh. He instantly ducked his head as regrets for the unfair verbal attack flooded his bloodstream. It hurt him too, his irrational instinct to hurt Rick just to conceal his inner turmoil.

Rick shot him a pungent look, shaking his head. "What do I know about it? God damn it… What do _I_ know about it?"

The only response he received was a distorted face as Daryl threaded his fingers through his overgrown hair and he went on, tone blunt. "Do whatever you want, Daryl. Come back or stay out here, accept your responsibilities or not, Carol will be safe and loved. And the same goes for your baby. I'm sure that as much as she may need you, she can pull through it. But if you want her," his voice dropped a full octave, underlying the meaning of the following statement, "get your shit together and make up your mind; otherwise she'll decide without you. And I can assure you she'll never forgive you for that."

The truck's engine roared back to life and Daryl was clutching the window frame again to block the vehicle's retreat. "Decide what?" he muttered faintly, a ragged breath clogging his throat.

"Whether to keep the baby or not."

"What?" Daryl gasped, startled by the revelation that Carol might not have been so eager to procreate either. All of a sudden he felt his child's life being in jeopardy instead of being a given and a freshly molded fear shaped deeply in his core, a fear of not having a say in what happened, a fear that goaded him back to action.

"She has already lost a child, Daryl, and she's afraid and alone and the clock is ticking. She'll have to make a decision pretty soon," Rick said dryly.

The tires screeched on the craggy soil when he jammed the throttle, not sparing a moment to receive an answer, and a cloud of heat and dust wafted from the ground, soaring like an ominous halo around Daryl who took a step forward on pure impulse.

"Rick, wait!"

* * *

"Mind if I join you girls?" Maggie's head popped up from the top of the staircase. The watch tower seemed like the only quiet place around the prison with the level of commotion that accompanied the constant arrivals of newcomers in their small community. "Glenn's driving me crazy."

"Sure," Carol said, with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "All I'm doing is bothering Michonne anyway."

"You two can keep your mouth shut. I like you," the black woman offered warmly as Maggie shuffled closer to Carol who was sprawled on the perch.

Maggie smiled. The longer someone was with the group, they more they took on Daryl's fondness of silence and people who just knew when to shut up. It was a trait he evidently shared with Michonne and often enough people in the prison would place bets on whether the two of them exchanged even a word when they were on a run together. "I still believe you're Daryl's lost sister," she teased, quirking a brow.

"I'm black in case you haven't noticed."

"Whatever."

Carol huffed bitterly. "Plus Michonne sticks around."

All three faces dropped in sync and Maggie's eyes drifted between the bottle of vodka and the lonely cigarette, laid untouched next to Carol. Conveying her silent question through a wary look addressing Michonne, she only got a sigh in response before flicking her gaze back to Carol. She had figured what was happening between her and Daryl a while ago and absently brought a hand over her protruding pregnant belly, grateful that Glenn was supportive and not missing in the woods. "Trying to make a decision there?" she asked finally.

Looking up at her, Carol smirked. "How did you know?"

"They say a pregnant woman knows," Maggie murmured with a squeeze on her arm. "Any progress?"

Carol shook her head. "Not really." She probably had, though. Having spent endless days and hours talking with the group's doctor and pondering on choices and alternatives, she hadn't swallowed a sip of the alcohol she was meandering around with or taken a drag of the shabby cigarette she had taken from Ty nearly a week ago. These actions, or lack thereof, spoke volumes for her decision about the baby, but Daryl's absence was just a pain running too deep. A pain she couldn't articulate to anyone else along with her fervent need for him to be part of that. "But you know what else they say," she mused contemplatively. "Pain makes you stronger, life makes you wiser, love makes you braver. But vodka, my friend… Vodka makes you forget all that crap."

"And we can't even get a freaking swig of that," Maggie pouted in amusement and they all laughed.

"Well, speak for yourselves and hand the bottle to me," Michonne grinned, outstretching a hand. "I'll need all the help I can get if I'm gonna babysit every crazy knocked up chick around."

"Hey," Maggie exclaimed."Crazy isn't cool!"

Carol passed the vodka to Michonne, her tone conspiratorial as she winked. "Just call us hormonal and you'll be fine."

They heard the rumbling sound of the bike's engine even before Rick's truck emerged from the forest edge with Daryl close on his tail.

"Now we know where Rick disappeared to," Michonne grumbled.

Carol's heart was hammering in her chest, gaze transfixed on the two vehicles entering the prison gates. She could see him scanning the yard and then narrowing his eyes towards the guard tower, gaze lingering on her. By the time he climbed off the bike and started marching his way to them, she had long since started hyperventilating.

Maggie looked at Carol. "Michonne and I best get moving if you wanna talk to him or we can stay if you don't."

Puffing, Carol rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. "If I don't speak to him now, I'll probably be six months pregnant by the time he shows up again," she whispered, voice hurt and sour.

"You got this shit," Michonne told her firmly and Maggie reassured her that everything was going be okay as she scrambled up on her feet.

Daryl was mounting the stairs determinedly two at a time, striving to keep in check the courage oozing off him. As each passing second brought him closer to the face to face confrontation with Carol that he so vehemently dreaded, every stride became a bit more labored than the last one.

Maggie walked past him without as much as a word or a look, but Michonne paused, glowering down on him. "Daddy's home, party's over," she sputtered in his face before moving on but he only requited with a murderous glare, registering the bottle she was still holding and the cigarette next to Carol.

Regarding her cautiously, Daryl trudged the last feet separating them and towered over her slouched frame. "Are you supposed to smoke and drink in your-your condition?" he grunted, slurring perceptibly as she craned her neck to stare back at him blankly, dead in the eye.

"Since when are you the boss of me?" she retorted, gaze unfaltering.

Irrational anger crept in his veins, fingers twitching nervously. "It's mine, ain't it?"

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that unless you want this conversation to end right here," she countered evenly, holding her ground. The blaze of ire that flashed momentarily across her cerulean eyes forced him to lower his gaze first, glaring at the tips of his boots.

"Fuck, Carol," he grumbled, scuffing the cement floor. "I wanna have a say in this."

"In what?"

He opened his mouth to elaborate, but it only hung agape. "The- the," he stuttered, words evanescing until he sealed his lips again.

Searching his downcast gaze in vain, Carol blinked away the mistiness, mentally chiding herself for expecting Daryl to willfully be a father for a child whose existence he found impossible to acknowledge. "How do you expect to have a say in the baby if you can't even utter the word?"

"The baby, ok? The baby," he bellowed, tossing his arms in the air. It sounded strange, this simple word coming from him, but the feeling in his chest was warm despite his cheeks blushing ten shades of red. "Spoke with Rick," he muttered, gnashing on his thumbnail. "He said you haven't yet figured if you're keeping it or not."

His arms flicked to assist her as she dragged herself laboriously off the perch, but Carol sidestepped them. "So?" she mumbled, stubbornly stanching the welling tears. "You've been gone for ten days. What do you care?"

He knew what a colossal jerk he was and how much his aloof demeanor kept backfiring, hurting her over and over again. He knew he wanted her, a life with her and, for his personal standards and hurdles, that was pretty much the most threateningly looming menace in a daily schedule crammed with lethal perils. He knew he needed her to convince him that she and the baby would be safe with him, that he would be safe with them, that they both deserved a future less foreboding than their pasts. He also knew he had no words to express himself and was actually coming out aggressive instead of simply remorseful and apologetic. All he could do was gawk at her mutely, hoping that his wide eyes would contrive a language to convey all these messages his lips failed to phrase.

"Please, let's just talk," he pleaded, crossing his arms as she took a step closer, generously offering him a half smirk.

"I never meant to saddle you with this burden, Daryl," she said plainly to make sure he believed her. "I expect nothing for myself. You owe me nothing. All I want is for you to be there for this baby. Protect it. Make sure it survives if anything happens to me." Her little speech, or request, or expectation was over and she wriggled her fingers, regarding him gravely.

His hands remained stubbornly tucked under his armpits but the countenance spread across his facial features had softened significantly. "Tell me about the risks," he asked, tone calm but voice husky.

Ignoring the lump blistering in her throat, Carol sucked in a stabilizing breath. "I had three miscarriages before Sophia. No pathological reasons, though, just Ed beating the crap out of me. But Bob says it still makes a history. And I'm not in my twenties either. These first few months will be crucial on whether the baby makes it or not."

Maybe it was the way her gaze darted around. Maybe it was the nervous fidgeting and the laced fingers of her stance. Maybe she had given away nothing and it was just that he had done his fair share of overthinking and overanalyzing the predicament, mulling repeatedly over Carol's chances to step out of this in one piece, safe and sound and alive, but he knew, even before the silence soaring between them rendered uncomfortable that she had only told him half the story and half the truth. Somehow the subtext was translucent and he resented his vital urge to hear what he already knew articulated loudly in order for it to become painfully real.

"What about you?" he rasped and all his ostensible composure shattered in a million pieces, like shards of broken crystal.

Carol didn't miss a thing; neither the trembling voice nor the clenched jaw or the blue pearls bearing holes in her face turning all kinds of misty in a flash. "Anything could happen, especially during the labor," she stated as solemnly as possible, her own breathing accelerating frantically under the intensity of his gaze. "Giving birth to Sophia wasn't a walk in the park and I was fourteen years younger, let alone the availability of modern medicine. I didn't lie to you when I told you I couldn't have any other children. That's what the doctors had said back then."

"You could die," he mumbled, leaning back on the railing to steady himself. Arms splayed by his sides, his muscles flexed abruptly, divulging the taut nerves wobbling heatedly beneath a layer of tanned skin as he fisted the steel, clutching it with every grain of stamina lurking inside him, focused on squishing it into mush to avoid the eerie bleakness of the words mauling up his throat. "Like Lori."

"I could, yes," she deadpanned, swallowing hard.

Cringing at the blatant declaration, Daryl felt his simmering temper hurling over the edge. "And you don't even care," he seethed, raw anguish morphing into exploding wrath at his incompetence to verbalize explicitly the crashing terror of losing her.

"I don't want to die, Daryl!" she yelled her indignation at the false accusation of her alleged death wish, lessening the distance between them with a labored plod.

"Then you know it's not worth it," he drawled, each word hissed emphatically through gritted teeth as his forefinger jammed on Carol's collarbone.

A cool hand stroked soothingly the throbbing veins of his temple when she inched closer, and he didn't flinch at the contact. "Daryl, how can you say such a thing?" she whispered with genuine incredulity and he instinctively lowered his gaze. "You almost got yourself killed searching for Sophia. You and Maggie were the ones who kept Judith alive when she was born. Children are always worth dying for. They are the future. They are hope."

A gentle tug under his chin tilted his head just a notch, enough for two pairs of cerulean eyes to immerse deeply into each other. "Hope," he maundered blankly in a barely audible timbre, calloused hands ghosting the length of Carol's arms.

"Children are hope," Carol recited softly, with a tight-lipped smile. "Isn't hope what keeps us fighting?"

Suddenly light-headed, he registered the lingering of her hand as it fumbled with a loosely hanging button of his shirt. "Yeah," he droned, never breaking eye contact. "Hope."

"And you'd make a great father no matter what happens to me," she offered and watched his concerned expression warping into a mask of sheer horror.

Heaving a sigh, he spun around quickly, shriveling like a skittish animal. Too many pent up fears, way too many bottled up confessions, all strewn in front of him at once, his damaged psyche unraveled pathetically like a broken maze under the punctuating gaze of this woman who could read across his lines with an infuriating prowess, as if fathoming him was only natural for her.

"Ain't no role model, Carol," he groaned, knees buckling under the insufferable encumbrance of his soul. "You should know that by now. If genes count for something-"

"You're nothing like Roy, Daryl," she cut him off sternly, resting a palm on his back.

Her touch scorched his flesh like burning chisels; nearly two years after Sophia's disappearance and this religious faith Carol had in him remained one of the most indecipherable cosmic riddles to him. "What if I hurt the baby? Or you?" he panted, bordering on a panic attack as he wheezed in a lungfuls of air that failed to relieve his knotted chest.

"Would you ever hurt Jude? 'Cause I know firsthand you'd definitely never hurt me. Besides, we're not a package deal, the baby and I. Nothing ties you up with me." Her voice was calm yet dim as his head snapped up at the unforeseen innuendo, eyeing her altruistic professions through a slit.

Compelling as it might have been to rant and rave at her for speaking such nonsense, he cursed himself under his breath for stirring all sorts of hues of self-doubt and insecurities inside her. He had always assumed she simply understood how he felt for her, regardless of his actions usually juxtaposing his emotion. Clearly, she didn't. And he couldn't help but wonder if the obscure trepidation that the feelings he had for her weren't mutual was about to materialize into a very tangible threat.

"You are completely free, no strings attached. Stay on your own or find another woman, I'll never get in your way."

Too preoccupied with his own qualms, he had neglected to take this aspect into consideration, that she might be the one who had zero interest engaging into a family with him, that she might have just needed a father for her child, not a man for herself, that maybe she didn't want him nearby in the first place. "That what you want?" he asked, the barely cloaked growl of his tone echoing through the thunderous hollering of his mind.

Carol shook her head sadly. "No," she confided. "I wanted you, every part. But I can't force myself into your life if you don't want me."

Snagging her wrist crudely, he struggled to congregate a clutter of random words into a proper order. "Ain't nothing to do with what I want. You don't get it. Men like me-" His voice trailed off and an unfamiliar sting burned his eyes.

"You're not Ed. And you're not Roy," she chanted painstakingly as if his audition was somewhat failing.

"I can't afford your being wrong about it," Daryl groaned.

"I trust you," she whispered, resting her forehead against his. "Blindly. Even the walkers behind the fence know that."

_You saw my pain, washed out in the rain  
Broken glass, saw the blood run from my veins  
_

"Why?"

"Because I know you. Better than you know yourself."

"And you think I can do this?"

"I know you can." Carol nodded as she wiped away the salty droplets streaming down her face, taking a step back to meet his eyes. "There's no one I'd choose over you. Believe me, just this once. Trust me that I see something you don't."

"I trust you," he blurted, mimicking her nod.

_But you saw no fault no cracks in my heart  
And you knelt beside my hope torn apart_

She smiled encouragingly. "A leap of faith is all you need."

"That leap of faith," he stammered, eyes narrowed and voice twisted. "What if _I_ take it and _you_-"

"I'm not your mother, I won't vanish," Carol blundered hastily in one breath. "And I'm certainly not Merle, have too many hands for that," she kidded awkwardly, extracting a half smile from his tensed face. "I won't leave you or the baby, not if it's up to me. I have never left you. This is what you do and you have to stop it."

_But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view  
And we'll live a long life  
_

No parts of their bodies were touching despite their physical proximity. "They are ghosts, Daryl," she mused, eyes flickering in the faraway horizon. "Can't hurt us anymore. They're here only if we choose for them to be."

Daryl inspected her vagabond gaze roaming over the inflamed sunset that ignited tangerine sparks in her dark-tinged irises, his palms balled into fists to avoid grabbing her for a passionate kiss. He loved this woman even if verbalizing such a consuming feeling was beyond his reach. And, though irrational since he had never met the baby, he loved it too, as a part of her that belonged to him. And maybe, just maybe, he still stood a chance to learn how to love a part of himself as well, the part he'd share with the baby. Carol knew, Carol could lead the way, like a shining beacon shredding light into the darkness. Maybe his battle with loneliness wasn't done and dusted, maybe the equilibrium hadn't yet tipped to the victorious side, maybe he could still fight it: his past, his upbringing, his ghosts.

_So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light  
Cause oh they gave me such a fright  
But I will hold as long as you like  
Just promise me we'll be alright  
_

Fuck, he believed her, every bit. And he wanted to try; he wanted _her_; he wanted _them_.

"I want you both," he rasped suddenly, pawing at her waist, teeth mangling the inner side of his cheek.

Carol batted her eyelashes, wrinkles of confusion etching her brow. "I already told you that you don't have to-"

"I know what you said," he interrupted her mid-sentence, tugging her closer. "Don't have to do shit. Fuckin' awesome."

_So lead me back  
Turn south from that place_

She opened her mouth to speak again but a peck on her lips hushed her immediately.

"I want you both," he groaned hoarsely and covered her mouth with his, one arm clamped around her vise-like as the other hand cupped her neck.

"Daryl-"

"I want you," he drawled, nibbling on her lower lip until her mouth went pliant granting him entrance. "Baby or no baby." The kiss deepened as his tongue swept in, savoring the sensation. God, he had missed her taste. "I want you."

Gasping for air, Carol felt her eyes rolling in the back of her head, palms clinging to his curved biceps. "Daryl-" she moaned in his mouth.

_And close my eyes to my recent disgrace  
Cause you know my call_

"Ain't leaving again, I swear." He soughed and felt her lips finally flexing against his, reciprocating his passion, breaths ragged and scorching. "Believe me like I believe you."

She broke the kiss, regarding him heavy-lidded as her arms looped around his nape. "You have to accept that I love you, then," she panted. "More than I love myself. Even if you never feel the same way."

He smiled crookedly for the first time and even this lopsided curve of his mouth sufficed to brighten up his face. "It's a bit late for that," he hummed close to her lips and relished the way she beamed like a source of endless light at the implicit avowal of his love, a tiny hint of smugness blossoming in his gut. "It's too late for that."

_And we'll share my all  
And our children come, they will hear me roar_

They kissed again, lingering together to make up for the lost time and then the words were flowing. "We can do this," he said with newly acquired mettle and adamant pluck, thinking that he had turned into a chatter box and he'd never shut up again. "We're going straight to Bob after watch is over, see what kind of medical equipment he needs."

"Glenn and Bob have already talked about-"

"I don't give a shit about that," he grunted, omnipotent by the adoring look in her gaze. "Wanna hear everything myself. All we have to do is keep you strong and safe and healthy and we're gonna be fine. We can do this."

"Promise?" she asked, idly wondering how aware he was of having used that rarely-uttered 'we' five times in less than a minute.

"I swear." He wasn't aware of them, those 'we's' slipping with their own free will, mocking his imperviousness. It wouldn't be until Carol was in her seventh month that he'd realize that almost every single 'I' of the ruminations racking his mind was replenished by a much more invigorating 'we'. By that time, he wouldn't even stiffen at the thought, but none of them knew it at the moment.

_So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light  
Cause oh they gave me such a fright  
But I will hold as long as you like  
Just promise me that we'll be alright  
_

"Hormones are dancing like crazy during pregnancy," she smiled, providing some handy information. "There's gonna be a lot of crying, probably. And there's a high chance that I'll chase you around for sex all the time."

Daryl chuckled wholeheartedly. "Tell me something unusual for you."

"I will look like the globe," Carol sulked, but the playful twinkle in her gaze waltzed unswervingly. "Consider this your last warning if you want out."

"I don't want out," he smirked and a hand wormed between them, resting on her still flat belly. "Here?"

_But hold me still bury my heart on the coast  
And hold me still bury my heart next to yours_

Readjusting it a few inches lower, she smiled back at him, gazes locked. "Here," she said softly and a shudder rattled down his spine at the dawning realization that their baby's heartbeat was throbbing somewhere beneath his palm, protected inside Carol's womb.

"It hurts?"

"No."

"How big is it?"

"About the size of a bean."

"About the size of a bean," he echoed, cracking an ear to ear grin that only ever blossomed with the sole purpose to be witnessed by her. "You feel anything?"

"Other than constantly queasy, not much," she laughed. "It's too soon."

"You scared?"

_So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light  
Cause oh they gave me such a fright  
And I will hold on with all of my might  
Just promise me that we'll be alright  
_

She melted in his embrace when he hugged her again, leaning her entire weight against his chest and he knew, beyond any doubt and second thought, he knew he had won her back and he was ripe to fight tooth and nail for her and the gradually forming life inside her.

"You have no idea," Carol snorted, but the smile remained plastered on her face.

"Good," he murmured. "Me too."

"But you're in."

"I'm all in," he said confidently, maybe even a pitch louder than necessary, just to make sure the ghosts surrounding them had heard him challenging them too.

_But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view  
And we'll live a long life_

They had no idea what lay ahead of them, no idea what the next step was, no idea what to do. But, fuck, they'd do it.

* * *

_**Hope the second part lived up to your expectations and was worth the waiting…**_

_**I won't promise to update soon, because I have already broken this promise enough times. Truth is I have no idea when the next story will be up and I'm truly sorry I left you with a cliffhanger for a whole week. Real life is a bitch and I'm all messed up lately.**_

_**In case I won't be around for a while, remember to smile and Caryl on! I know I'm still seriously freaking out over the Carol/Merle deleted scene… And did you notice Daryl on the background? Oh, I swear I thought I was hallucinating that! My poor Caryl heart… Ok, I'll stop now, otherwise this rant won't end any time soon :)**_

_**A moment to leave a review is all it takes to make a girl happy :)**_

_**Till next time…**_


	44. Summertime

_**Hey, everyone!**_

_**I'm so happy today! Posting again in less than a week, yay! I have barely slept these past few days, but I'm proud to announce that I have responded to everyone who reviewed or sent me a pm for the last chapter. Can't even remember how long it had been since the last time I did that, LOL! So, let's see how far coffee can get me :)**_

_**This story is a request from **__**sarafina2012**__**. I got so excited with it that I put aside the story I was working on to get this done as soon as possible. Hope you like it because I had a great time writing it :) Extra happiness as this is the first time I managed to stay faithful to a request – I feel like I lost my virginity (no, don't laugh!) :)**_

_**vickih**__** has posted "Don't open your eyes", an amazing story told via poems. It's Caryl through and through and I found it breath-taking and incredibly original and hands down masterful. :) Another wonderful poem that pulled at my heart strings is "Sleep" by **__**Wemmabby**__**. I have already told you about my soft spot for poetry and I guarantee both of them are more than worth checking out.**_

_**This chapter is dedicated to Peta2 with all my love and support through hard times. Words can't describe my gratitude to her and perfectvelvet!**_

* * *

Torture. Physical and emotional torment. That was hands down the most accurate way to describe the hardest version of an incredibly hot and humid Georgian summer accompanied by the desperate attempts of the Woodbury newcomers and the prison group to coexist. The unstable weather wasn't assisting, not with the temperature clawing up to one hundred and five degrees. Daily chores and manual labor under the torrid noonday sun beams had turned them all into a bundle of crankiness and quivering nerves. Let alone all these sudden storms that'd drench them in a matter of seconds. Otherworldly amounts of downpour whipped the prison, wafting nebulae of dust and dirt off the soil that plastered like a second layer of skin to the residents, itching like blisters from an allergic reaction.

Of course, it was nowhere near as simple as that, not by any stretch of naïve reasoning. Birds chirping, insects buzzing, butterflies tangling together as their resplendent wings flapped in the sultry air, salient tree toads straddling each other, the realm of wilderness had long ago indulged in a procreating orgy, leering slyly at the incarcerated survivors. For the vast majority of loners among them, this celebration of life and passion and uncorked sensuality was an insufferable ordeal. Sexual appetite and increased – no, that was an understatement- _over the roof _libidos were mincing most of them through and through. It was hot, humid, and they were living through the apocalypse, sexually deprived and far too crammed up in the concrete cells of the prison.

Good news was that walkers didn't stand a fighting chance against all this simmering tension and corrosive rage – whenever a herd flocked the prison's outskirts, the residents would collectively storm out of the fence and lunge blindly at them, chopping off, decapitating, squelching walkers that would drop like flies; yes, throbbing sexual tension had thrust a shield of dauntlessness and invincibility over the prison; they were safe. Bad news was that, occasionally, this kind of fixation to exterminate every tinge of the walker threat was more likely to resemble suicide missions. And, sure enough, sullen faces, creased brows, heaving chests and dry mouths were restored long before the next herd appeared.

And then the storms. Storms were brewing everywhere. Even if the physical ones were sequestered outside the prison, different storms –of the emotional kind- always seemed to weave their way inside the walls. Storms lurking both in the clouds and the gut of each member of their group whose mood was saturated in a broth of perspiration and all sorts of clammy secretions, effectively mutating their behavior into a flawless mimicry of the unsteady weather.

On another note, why not? Sex was a way out, presumably the best way to double check and verify the fact that one was still alive, breathing and having a pulse when rotten corpses were swamping around the fences. They all knew their dim chances in this bleak, ridden world. They were all condemned men on death row, as good as already gone, with a double-edged sword dangling over their heads and a clock ticking the countdown in the background. Too preoccupied fighting day to day survival, it was easy to eventually forget that being survivors wasn't all there was. They were also alive. Very much alive and with the same needs a living person in the pre-apocalyptic universe used to have. The allegedly subtle alternations between surviving, existing and living had grown prominent and pungent.

So, why not? Why not have blow-minding sex? Why not hump like bunnies? Why not fuck each other senseless while you could? Tomorrow could be too late. The fewer the emotional hurdles and past baggage, the better this plan worked. Like Glenn and Maggie -they had found love and blossomed in the middle of this opaque reality. And they were going at it… everywhere. Making each second count as the rest of the group members groaned their frustration, ripe to spontaneously combust unless the flame burning their genitals wriggled a way out. Literally. For others, like Rick, Michonne, Tyreese, Karen and people who had journeyed through hell since the outburst, things were more complicated. Much more complicated. This world had simply snatched away too much from them and their bereavements claimed their toll on them. Pairing up wasn't a piece of cake even if their sexual needs blocked their airway. For Daryl and Carol… Well, when your life during the walker apocalypse was better, like really _better _than the one you had back when everything was normal, better to the point that sometimes the crinkling smiles were wholehearted and happiness was a given, maybe you were beyond hope and beyond salvation. Simply because this was meant to be a fucked up world for normal people. Not a world to thrive in.

Daryl was the worst, not really surprisingly so. His peevish tempers and cranky demeanor had significantly deteriorated, challenging the rest of the group to address him even for the most trivial remark. A question sufficed to ignite a hell of a fit, and a shitstorm of novel, colorful swears would flood out his mouth, most of which Carol had never heard before. No one dared to confront him to a quarrel that would almost inevitably escalate and end in fisticuffs, so they kept their distance, allowing him to meander around, grumbling and cussing under his breath. The situation was even worse when Carol was around. Normally, her presence had a soothing effect on him, but not lately. Around her he'd feel more on edge, though for some of the newcomers that sounded hardly conceivable.

He had grown accustomed to his accelerated heartbeat whenever their eyes met and the constant apprehension for her well-being and maybe he had as much as wondered if those signs meant that feelings stronger than friendship harbored inside him. He had contrived every kind of gimmick to tame these hollering emotions down. For one, he was no pussy. And two, if he avowed that he cared -and shit, he might- he would no longer be aloof and vigilant enough to protect her. With loneliness, he had made his peace: no emotional attachments.

But this fresh hardship was unbeknownst. During most of the simmering nights he'd jump in his sleep, drenched in a lagoon of sweat, overwhelmed by steamy dreams. In those despicable hallucinations that haunted his daily reveries as well, Carol had the scandalous role of a vamp, seducing him with her succulent lips and her sweet smiles and her perky, well-formed breasts, fitting ideally in his hands as if they were originally designed to dwell there. _Motherfucker…_

His legacy was a throbbing erection, bulging through the sweatpants he slept in and, sure enough, sleep would remain a pipedream after all these rated strictly for adults, porn-like deliriums. His eyes were dented, engulfed with dark rings. Had he been a religious person, he'd probably believe that he was undergoing a demon possession. Had he been a fairy tale lover, witchcraft would have been his best guess. Being neither of these, though, let alone a properly developed man in interpersonal affairs or conciliated with his physical needs, he complied with just being angry at _her_ for doing this to _him_.

That she was ignorant of the encumbrance she had inadvertently loaded on his back was off topic. Otherwise he'd have to face the depth of the feelings he had for her and that was a cosmic joke, out of question. Fighter, hunter, protector, potential leader, he was. Lover, he couldn't be. And he made sure to drone on and on to himself that it was a wicked coincidence that his mood instantly took a turn to hell –recently ushered by a clogged up throat- whenever somebody would hit on Carol and that, when Michonne called him _menopausal_ in respect with his reactions, she was just being a mean bitch.

_Suppressed sexuality_. That's where Maggie attributed Daryl's lather with a meaningful quirk of her brows, but Carol had briskly waved her off to conceal her blushing cheeks. She wasn't managing herself better than him. If he was the indisputable king of grouchiness, she easily ran for queen touchy, much to everyone's surprise and dismay. Her nourishing nature never faltered and the role of the group's caretaker was undoubtedly bestowed upon her, but they were all dumbfounded to discover that beneath the glowing serenity of her kind-hearted character hibernated a little spitfire easy to snap at anyone vexing her. Her weakness to maintain her overall agitation on a tight rein and the taut nerves that often took the better of her only intensified the sentiment of feminine unfulfilment and vibration in her private parts.

That she was in love with Daryl, Carol knew without doubt for a while now. A long while now. A very long while now. It made zero difference, of course, since both her saucy taunting and her outrageous innuendos always fell on deaf ears, Daryl's ears that always perceived even the slightest sound in the woods, but failed to hearken her heart screaming that she was dying from love and desire for him. She had made her peace, though. Not with loneliness like he had, but with his friendship. They were friends and she'd cherish the precious feeling without further whining. She could do that. And even if she couldn't, she would anyway. Because that's what her individual surviving saga entailed: constantly surpassing herself.

But having sex dreams about him wasn't part of the deal. On the contrary, it was a shameless violation of the bargain she had with the universe. As if the dead walking, the horrible weather and Daryl's absolute immunity to her every trick weren't enough agony. On the top of it all she was now jerking in her sleep, tossing and turning and moaning and panting like a flustered up teenager until her eyes shot open and she was alone in her bunk with sweat lapping around her and a comber of lava slithering down her thighs. _Jesus Christ…_

Restful sleep bordered on wishful thinking and the natural paleness of her skin was progressively fading away into a deathly, whitish hue. She had forgotten the trivial operation of respiration, deep inhalation through the nose, steady expiration through the mouth; she was constantly panting. Whenever her eye would catch some woman openly hitting on him, she'd spend hours sobbing, crumbled up on her cot. So, she resented him and felt it rightful to lash out at him as often as he lashed out at her.

Point was, it was hot. In any possible meaning. Hot. Inside, outside, emotionally, physically, sexually. Hot. And humid; just an extra wicked wink from God mocking them. Scorching sun and suffocating storms and people stressed and on edge. No light was even remotely visible at the end of the tunnel, not unless the melting heat wave broke sometime soon.

That particular morning probably was the worst ever. Skin rashes charred under the merciless solar flame and the land beneath their shoes was burning like a pit of fire beamed up straight from hell.

Daryl had been stripping her with his eyes for a while as she sauntered around the men exerting themselves on the crops and breeding animals, fanning out drinks and smiles, not granting him with as much as a surreptitious peek. The cause of their morning fight was evading him. They were in the common area during breakfast and he barked out something, she countered evenly, he yelled at her, she yelled back and, next thing he knew, she had spun around and trotted away.

He sulked when he saw her low-cut top clinging to her sticky skin, delineating her flat belly and the swell of her breasts and exposing the completely bare, well-toned arms and straight back; a body in great shape. He glowered when all the glasses were swiftly emptied and back on the tray and swore loudly, not giving a shit for the men regarding him like a nutcase. And his glare turned into the epic Dixon scowl when Tyreese relieved her from the weight of the tray and escorted her back to the prison.

She didn't care if he hadn't taken a drink despite being as dehydrated as any other and he didn't care that she didn't care, because he was a Dixon. He didn't care that numerous pairs of hungry, male eyes watered and slack jaws drooled at the visual feast she provided. Because he was a Dixon and he didn't care, plain as daylight. Period.

When she reappeared in the yard, his eyes roved over her, head to toe, stalking her every stride as she trudged towards him, a glass in each hand and hips swaying with the elegance of a doe's canter. _Motherfucker_…

"I come bearing gifts." Carol outstretched a glass of lemonade with a brave, tight-lipped smile. Daryl never worked topless like the other men, but that only peppered his charm with a pinch of additional mystery. Ogling him despite her best intentions, she mused on the smooth curves of his chest beneath the garment and idly wondered how come she was salivating, being insanely thirsty as she was when his biceps flexed, plucking the pickaxe out of the ground. _You sexy thing…_

Chucking the tool away with one hand, he swept away the sweat streaming down his face in torrents, eyes skimming at the hem of her bra, popping just a hint above the slanting side of the top. _Son of a bitch…_ "Lemonade?"

Carol's smile broadened. "And a peace treaty," she offered, receiving a lopsided smirk and a nod on his behalf. _Damn…_

As she passed him the glass, their fingers brushed and gazes locked momentarily before both averted their eyes in a panicked haste. They hoisted the glasses to their mouths to whoosh away the craving for something refreshing.

After a few sips, Carol lowered her lemonade, tongue lingering on the rim way longer than appropriate as she regarded him spellbound. There was something sexy about the way he quaffed his lemonade, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with each swallow. As she watched some of the yellowish liquid spill over the corner of his mouth, treading a track down his chin and along those neck curves... _God, help me…_

He never noticed her indiscrete scrutiny though, too preoccupied prying the orbit of sweaty droplets rolling down her cleavage. Fuckin' droplets had their fuckin' one way tickets for the VIP treatment of her tits. Maybe he could tilt his head just a notch to have better field of vision and a deeper view. Deeper… _Jeez,_ _get a hold of your balls, you fuckin' creep…_

"Thanks," he rasped, hissing a labored breath, all too vigilant of the femininity oozing off her in ridiculous abundance. Humiliatingly vigilant, as his pants began to tighten around his protruding horniness to the point he worried that his awareness of her femininity might be obvious to everyone in a considerable radius. _You've got to be kidding me…_

"We need as many fluids as we can get," she muttered huskily, ducking her head and blushing ten shades of crimson at the way his gaze was ravaging her. _Damn it, Daryl. If hotness was a crime, you'd be inside for life…_

The unpretentious appeal of her natural shyness almost did him in. "Sorry about earlier," he grunted, clearing his knotted up throat. "We're gonna start shooting each other if this weather keeps going. It's hotter than the fuckin' devil's cock out here."

"Maybe you wanna stay away from the kitchen then," she replied casually, blinking away the dizziness his presence seemed to stir. "We had all sorts of catfights since morning."

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Did you pull any pigtails yourself?"

"Naw," she laughed. "But it was so damn hot in there I wanted to turn the stove on to cool off."

His eyes flicked up to the clouds gathering on the sky and then back to Carol. "Gonna get worse if it rains in the afternoon," he grumbled and instantly chuckled a little. "Try handing out eggs to everyone. We can boil them in our underwear for dinner."

Carol cracked up, but the next line to keep the banter tided away in the tip of her tongue, when Sarah, a girl from Woodbury not much older than Beth, practically latched on to Daryl's shoulder with a rag, swabbing the sweat off.

"Need a towel?"

He flinched away of the physical contact but grabbed the towel, glancing bashfully at the girl. "Thanks."

"Not a big deal," she slurred, openly ogling him like a piece of meat.

Carol huffed, jealousy snarling in her core ready to devour her innards as Daryl squinted at her, contemplating on whether the sudden shine in her gaze was a flash of ire.

"You're toiling yourself out here and we need to take care of each other," Sarah went on, taking a plucky step forward and Daryl took one back in reflex. "You know, team work."

He looked up to Carol's direction for help, but she was too caught up striving to keep her flaring nostrils and pursed lips in check. "Ain't much of a team player," he barked out, considering the blunt declaration a dismissal rather than a booty call.

Obviously, the girl opted to interpret the subtext of his words differently. "Good," she drawled, voice dropping a full octave in the lewdest timbre Carol had ever heard. "Me neither."

Riled up beyond comprehension and in dire need to either hide and bawl or break something or maybe punch Daryl or even smack Daryl's and Sarah's heads together, Carol gratefully clutched the life jacket Tyreese tossed her when he approached the unlikely trio of them.

"I'm gonna raid a feed store. The animals are suffering," he announced to her, ignoring Daryl who stabbed daggers at his face. "Wanna join me?"

"Anything to get away from here," Carol muttered through gritted teeth, addressing Ty but glaring right back at Daryl glaring at her.

"That bad, huh?" he asked as they marched towards the cars, listening to Daryl behind them lash out at Sarah for trying to touch him.

Carol shrugged him off. "Don't ask."

"Same with Karen," Ty murmured angrily.

"Yeah, she's seriously grumpy today. Caused quite a scene earlier in the kitchen."

"I've been mulling over a plan to murder her and get away with it," he frowned.

Carol quirked a brow, doubting if fusing her frazzled nerves with Ty's on a run was a smart idea. "Don't seem to be doing much better yourself."

"Right back at you," he grouched, glowering down on her.

"Great," Carol scorned, yanking the passenger's door open as Ty settled behind the steering wheel. "This's gonna be fun."

"Quit the nagging, will you?"

"You started it."

"No, I didn't."

The uproar of the engine coming to life cloaked up their petty squabble.

* * *

She knew she was in trouble when they pulled over in the empty yard. A storm was about to erupt above their heads and everyone not on watch duty was holed up inside the prison. Everyone except Daryl who was pacing the length of the front perch fuming like a caged bull.

She knew she was in trouble because Ty and she were late. Really late. We-were-about-to-send-out-a-search-party -for-you kind of late. And it was entirely her fault. Unable to calm down during the ride and the scavenging, Carol would hop out of the car to kill off every walker they encountered or dispatch way more than necessary inside the store. She had been in zero danger, channeling her temper only to the lonely ones and always under Ty's hawkish supervision, but that wouldn't be an easily defendable argument. Not with her clothes dripping blood as if she had showered in walker gunk whereas Ty looked pretty much intact.

So she nodded to her companion that it was ok for him to get inside when Daryl towered over her, arms crossed over his chest and she came to a halt in front of him.

"Thought you went on a run, not a killing spree," he seethed, wrath barely trampled behind a furious gaze.

She bowed her head and wriggled her fingers, a fidgeting leg scribbling abstract patterns on the dirt, like a child ready to receive a well-deserved chastisement. "Pent-up tension," she blurted her puny excuse.

"From what?"

Shrugging, she dodged the question. Like he cared, like he wasn't off gallivanting with Sarah right in her face a few hours ago. She shot him a mean look, but the stench of putrefied vile filtered through and she noticed that his clothes were covered with blood as well. "Don't look like you stayed put yourself," she deadpanned with newly found valor. "Blew off some steam?"

It was his turn to shrug the question off. "Whatever."

"Right," Carol scoffed and moved to sidestep him. "Whatever."

He blocked her exit with a foreboding rumble. "As long as I'm charge of the runs, you'll answer to me."

"I'm perfectly capable to take care of myself," she bit out, voice trembling with anger.

"The fuck you are!" he roared. "What are you gonna do if you run into a herd? Or bandits?"

"You think I'm an idiot?" she yelled back.

"You prove me right every god damn time!"

"Oh, please… Thought getting your sweat wiped off by your fan club would keep you busy!"

"Doesn't change the fact that the next time you wanna ride off with Don Juan for some fun in the sun, you have to _check with me first!_" he raved, out of control. "Like it or not, I don't give a fuck."

"Feeling jealous today, Daryl?" she sneered mischievously and he staggered backwards, bewildered by the unexpectedly low tone of her voice.

"Shut your mouth," he hissed.

Carol was all over his face in a flash, heaving labored breaths that winnowed his stubble and tickled his skin. "Or what?"

His forefinger jammed on her collarbone as he growled like a defeated beast. "Or-"

"What?"

"Fuck-"

Her lips hushed him abruptly as she practically leapt into his arms. Almost losing his balance at the brunt of her attack, he recovered soon enough to paw her ribcage. Slender arms locked around his nape and his formerly unyielding mouth softened and moved hesitantly under hers, lips relaxing, pliant against any remnant of volition or better judgment. Cracking them open just a slit to provide her entrance, her tongue slithered inside his mouth seeking his, swirling around it, goading him into action until he was enticed along her amorous rhythm, tongues waltzing in sync.

They moaned in unison as the kiss deepened, Carol tugging fistfuls of overgrown hair and Daryl groping her waist and snuggling her closer, as if the level of physical proximity he longed for was inherently unattainable. His hands curled demandingly around the cotton fabric of her top, threatening to rip it into tatters. Carried away with passion and painfully aware both of his arousal and his almost non-existent experience in sexual intercourse, he feared to have indulged into far too much nipping and sucking and greedy biting than Carol would relish. But she was kissing him back with reciprocal fervor, evenly vying for dominance, so he must have being doing something right.

A distant clap of thunder shattered her fluffy bubble, violently dragging Carol back into a mortifying reality where she had trespassed every boundary with her inexcusable advances. As panic progressively sank in, she unglued her mouth and muffled unfathomable apologies and pleas, squirming to break free from Daryl's arms.

"Wait," he mumbled, not loosening the grip that riveted her against retreat. "Wait."

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," Carol stuttered out in his mouth, eyes downcast. "I shouldn't have done that. Please don't get mad. I'm so -"

Her voice choked up into a strained gulp when she mustered every grain of courage to glance up and meet his eyes again and she gaped at him mutely, startled at the blazing flames staring right back at her. Not succeeding to prevent her heart from vaulting frantically in her chest at the sight of the unfathomable expression crinkling the corner of his eyes, Carol grated the muscled biceps, nails almost hooking in his flesh to steady herself.

Flashes of lighting tore into the ashen-tinged sky and with one final, deafening clatter the brewing storm detonated as torrents of water were spewed from the murky clouds, rinsing away the stinky sheen of sweat and blood cloaking their limbs. Neither of them blinked nor broke eye contact, oblivious that they were soaked to the bone as the rain rattled on its humming chant.

Insatiable, heavy-lidded eyes plowed her face, skimming drowsily between her dazzled gaze and a set of parted lips wheezing out hitched breaths. Leashing his lust an instant before it busted with a devastating blast, Daryl heaved a ragged sigh that miserably failed to fill his lungs with air and pried on a vagabond droplet slinking down the narrow trench that crowned her upper lip before it stumbled and drizzled on the curve of her mouth. Whether it was her salty sweat or a raindrop he couldn't say but it glistened like a sparkling pearl in the fading twilight and he soughed audibly the sore urge to nibble it and savor her taste again. God, the mere thought of that; of licking_ her_…

Her teeth gnawed painfully on her lip when beads of sweat sprinkled from the greasy strands of hair clinging to his forehead, trailing a moist path in their wake as they slid down his forehead and temples. A quaver numbed her lower belly and her spine arched like a cat's as she momentarily floated out of her body to glide a wobbling tongue against his skin, relishing the coarseness of the flesh and the tartness of oozing perspiration blended with masculinity and earth. "I'm so -" she gasped again, at a loss of words. "So-"

Tugging her closer and wrapping his arms around her until she was flush against his rocky sternum, he took in the twinkles of passion waltzing in her gaze. A husky whisper mauled up his throat, withering out as a muffled groan. "Wet?"

Swaying a little, Carol resisted the haziness to swoon hard in the embrace that clamped around her like a steel, inescapable vise. "That, too," she breathed unevenly, almost reeling with the vehemence his tongue instantly flicked in, assaulting her mouth.

* * *

_**I'm ending this story here, because the tiniest attempt to write smut will give me a stroke right now :) But if anyone feels like adding 2-3 paragraphs of drizzling sexiness for our couple, please feel free to proceed and pm it to me and I will add the part. And in the wonderful case I receive more than one, I will post them all as alternative versions under your penname, of course. **_

_**And you only have two more days to vote to Kaye's contest for your favorite Caryl stories!**_

_**Till next time…**_

_**DWB**_

_**P.S.1 Pat83 is back in ff, which means a unicorn is born and the world is a better place :)**_

_**P.S.2 Please, don't forget to feed my Caryl heart with a review, ok?**_


	45. Expendable (Part I)

_**Hey everyone,**_

_**First of all, thanks to everyone who voted in the 4theloveofcaryl contest, no matter which story/writer you voted for. To those of you who voted for me, what can I say? This fic won Best Drabbles :) I'm humbled and hope you know that it's only because you liked it in the first place that this story got so far. Finally, a huge 'thank you' to the selfless, giving, encouraging, generous etc. etc. Kaye, aka SOA loving mom. I personally owe her so much. **_

_**Moving on to this chapter, I originally intended for it to be full of fluff and smut, because yesterday me and my boyfriend celebrated our birthday (yep, born the same day a year after him :)), and we are always with friends and have crazy fun. So I thought that waiting for it would have inspired me for some sweetness, but I guess that's not the way the muse works… The drunken goodness I was writing remained incomplete and I struggled for days with the good, old angst that brought me here. Angst it is then (I think I can hear missdaryldixon cheering)! Super angst! I also tried a few different things in the writing style and I hope you like it :)**_

_**Without the invaluable feedback from Peta2 and perfectvelvet, this story wouldn't make sense at all.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

"Daryl."

Judging by the reverberation of the low whisper tickling her ears, her best guess was that she was locked up in a confined space. The last memory she had was her carefree splashing at the creek and the vague savor of the sensation the cold water enveloping her ankles had, being interrupted by Daryl sprinting to reach her, hollering her name. At first she thought she was about to be chewed by a stray walker, but a sharp pain in the back of her head tossed her into an abyss.

"Daryl."

Blindfolded and dazed, restrained in a chair, Carol gasped for air, her dry mouth hampering her attempt to swallow. She could see nothing, she could hear nothing. Her back and head were killing her, her surrounding where a mystery. The first seeds of a panic attack crept in, her heartbeat accelerating frantically as her breathing briskly escalated into a labored hyperventilation. All she could do was stubbornly drone his name, not even waiting for an answer anymore. As haunting as it might have been, this raw avowal to herself, the acknowledgement of her solitude, she had to keep talking. Just to reassure that she was alive and sane. That this torture was real and not her mind tricking her, tiptoeing precariously on the thin edge of the wedge.

"Daryl."

It was inconceivable, the effort required for the husky sound to claw out of her lips. Even nothing more than a simple word, his name, every single letter mauled up, painfully chafing her sore throat. She was disoriented and disconcerted, most possibly suffering from a concussion, but she wasn't bestowed the luxury to worry about such things. Daryl would laugh at her for fretting over a little headache, cramps and bruises. He'd call her a princess and a diva, huffing at her nagging and she'd pout her lips and sulk just a little bit, until the pain was sequestered at the outskirts of her mind. But Daryl wasn't here. _Daryl_…

"Daryl."

The fourth time, her voice choked up in a stifled sob. After losing Sophia, most of the things she had previously dreaded were no longer a threat given that her worst nightmare had turned into a bleak reality. Soon after her daughter's death, she ceased fearing the walkers, death, men, insults, pain. She was a brand new woman, a late bloomer, as Merle had pointed spot on. Everything that used to be frightening left her unfazed now. Daryl didn't count, as much as he had mastered the art of terrorizing everyone with his exploding temper; his notorious badassery never really worked its magic menace with her.

Steadily traversing an exponential advancing since then, she and the people around her knew there was almost nothing that scared her anymore. Until the moment she came around, aching and in solitary, not having a clue about his whereabouts or about whether he was dead or alive or a walking corpse. After all these plights, sufferings, ordeals, tears, bereavements and heart-wrenching goodbyes, it made her sick how much she still had to lose. Daryl, her Achilles' heel.

Distant, indiscernible, monotonous sounds. Boots. Boots clomping heavily, approaching the room where she was held and coming to a halt outside the door. Hearkening for even the remotest sign of the familiar figure, Carol concentrated on stabilizing her breathing. No reason for a panic attack. It might just be Daryl. And yet, she knew it wasn't; the sound of Daryl's gait wasn't something she'd blunder under any circumstances. Let alone that if Daryl was in position to amble around in whatever this place was, she wouldn't be snared and chucked in a dungeon in the first place.

Swallowing hard, she squared her shoulders, ready to face the challenge and whatever lie ahead, lips pursed in a firm line. As much as she'd like to refute it, the man's footing bore no resemblance to the familiar gait of the hunter she had progressively grown to recognize and denial was no longer an option when he entered the room, his heavy breathing in stark contrast with Daryl's normally inaudible one. The door slammed behind him and she jerked as the clatter bounced off the walls of her throbbing head.

Everything Daryl had taught her waltzed haphazardly in her mind, the nerves in her neck quivering as she clenched her jaw in a despondent attempt to arrange her slipshod ruminations in a meaningful order. Never show fear. Listen, listen to everything, listen carefully, listen before you speak. Spot the weakness of your opponent and you have your leverage. Pick your fights, don't play hero. Never show fear. Never show fear. _Never_. _Show_. _Fear_.

And the most crucial of them all. Don't die. Don't you dare die. Softly verbalized as 'Stay safe'. _Don't_. _Die_. The subtext had never been explicitly articulated, but she could almost hear his raspy voice conveying it mutely through an intense, piercing look radiating profound promises. _I'll come for you_.

Only he hadn't, not this time. Another man was crouching in front of her, a man she couldn't see, a man she probably hadn't met before, a man that'd hurt her. Perceiving rather than actually noticing the hand moving to her face, she craned her neck back to avoid contact. Surprisingly enough, the man initially complied.

But Daryl she trusted anyway. There was nothing reversible in the bond they shared, nothing questionable, nothing valid only if certain premises were satisfied. It was a pact, an unbreakable contract. He hadn't come, not this time. And the only reason he wouldn't is that he couldn't. He wasn't here, but had dinned in her everything she needed to fend and take care of herself. Everything she needed to survive. Being hysterical wouldn't get her far. Certainly not if Daryl needed her this time and she had to contrive a way to get to him. Play by the rules, until she got her chance to break them.

The next time the stranger's hands shot out to touch her, she didn't stiffen.

_Never show fear. _

_Listen, listen to everything, listen carefully, listen before you speak. _

_Spot the weakness of your opponent and you have your leverage. _

_Pick your fights, don't play hero._

_Don't die. _

_Don't you dare die._

Masculine hands, coarse but diligently gentle, peeled the blindfold off her eyes. Blue eyes, the hue of the Mediterranean sea, locked with the dark brown of blended mocha and java coffee beans, vying for dominance, staring deep into each other, sizing up, scrutinizing the owner, prying the presence of a friend or a foe. The brown eyes narrowed, deepening to the opaqueness of a muddy swamp, seeking the blue ones for ripples, wakes or eddies, for any sign of frailty. But they detected none, the azure waters were serene and regal and the stern look softened again, droplets of caramel allotting a warm mellowness in it.

Carol kept her mouth zipped and the cards close to her chest. Good or bad, that was the hand she had been dealt and she was nowhere close to fold and forfeit interest in the pot. The stakes were just too high.

"I'm Martinez. You best be a good girl now and listen carefully to everything I say…" He sounded like help, not danger, using the same words Daryl did.

* * *

The closer they got to the barricaded door down the dimly lit passageway the clearer she could make out the sounds. Thumps, the dull, repetitive sound of fists plowing into flesh. In a foggy daydream she wondered how she had grown to distinguish the subtleties between how a punch or a kick echoed and the different timbre of groan they stirred. The barrel of the gun made connection with her body again, prickling the spot between her shoulder blades and they both stopped.

Another groan and she shuddered, knowing who was doing the beating and who was taking it, bolstering herself for the first face to face encounter with the torturer.

_Never show fear. _She was terrified, afraid she would petrify the moment Daryl's bloody figure emerged – or worse, start weeping. They exchanged a glance, she nodded, Martinez mirrored her and then shimmied the key in the lock.

Inside, the Governor was living his myth.

"You're one tough son of a bitch, Dixon. Living up to your brother's reputation."

Carol was under the impression that she was trembling when she stepped inside, but she was dead wrong; her back was straight and not a single sinew wobbled in her face. Eyes turning all shades of misty, her pacing never staggered despite the horror pumping through her veins. Daryl was clambering up on his knees with great exertion, his face a doodled canvas of gashes and swells, semisolid blood clotting over the cord that grated the wrists detained behind his back, droplets of fresh blood dripping on the floor. She sucked in some air, resisting the urge to throw herself at him.

_Never show fear. _They exchanged just a look, a fleeting one before a new blast sent him reeling and her fear transmuted into simmering rage at the wounded sight he provided as the Governor spared her arrival just a moment to command Martinez to untie Carol's hands and for him to stand by the door. Untie her hands; good, he was already underestimating her. In the other corner, Shumpert's massive frame was stalking Daryl.

The Governor nursed his mangled knuckles and leaned over him again, picking up from where he was left. "Except he ended up dead. You sure you wanna walk in his footsteps?"

Another punch in the gut.

"You'll kill us both anyway," Daryl grunted, spitting a mouthful of blood.

_Listen, listen to everything, listen carefully, listen before you speak. _The wheels in her head twirled override. He was addressing the Governor, but she knew he was talking to her, displaying the maze they were trapped in, assessing the dead ends, evaluating possible ways out. She had to live up to the challenge. Stay safe, keep him alive, and not let him down.

"I want Michonne," the Governor drawled, the staleness of his tone revealing that the same demand had already been reiterated time and time again. "And all you have to do is show me a back door to get inside that caged palace of yours."

Her brain was saturated with knowledge, like a sponge soaking up in every trail of liquid. Even cornered, Daryl still tugged the strings of the conversation and she got the memo, _listening_, _listening_ _carefully_, and learning his motivations, silent. Her family was in danger.

"If you only wanted Michonne you'd stalk the prison and wait for her to come out," Daryl wheezed in agony, gagging with the blood pooling in his mouth. He shored himself up against the wall and Carol winced at the way each inward breath made him hiss; how many cracked ribs this thrashing had caused was impossible to evaluate without groping his sides. But he was re-positioning himself for a blow again, dauntless and proud and invincible. "No reason to sneak inside. What you really want is to turn the prison into a slaughterhouse, you sick fuck."

_Spot the weakness of your opponent and you have your leverage. _Daryl had hinted it and she had already figured everything. He was a lunatic, blindly seeking revenge, always revenge, as if murdering half of the Woodbury population in cold blood wasn't enough. He still had to exterminate them down to one, like they were the bugs and he held the pesticide. He was a psychopath and they knew it, but it was debatable whether they could use it against him. He was ruthless and feral, but he was also a wild card, competent for anything, utterly unpredictable. Crazy, but with nothing to lose, nothing to protect. Hard to use the knowledge they gained against him when predicting his next move was impossible; it could work, but it could also backfire.

Her mind was racing.

"Truth is I wouldn't mind Rick's head for my collection. Or that Tyreese asshole and his sister." He peered at Carol over his shoulder. "See? Your witty redneck has figured me out. But then again it's a principal I live by to never hide who I am."

_Pick your fights, don't play hero. _Easy to say, hard to do. Especially when another punch directed to Daryl swung in the air. Besides, she had her plan. And an unexpected ally. She couldn't fully trust Martinez and his intentions, of course, but was short of alternatives and Daryl seemed determined to channel all the of the Governor's rage on him. Another self-sacrifice Carol couldn't accept. Just for once, she might run to his rescue instead of waiting him to save her. And in case that meant that the price she had to pay was him never talking to her again, it was still worth it.

"General consensus seems to suggest you should, though," Carol deadpanned and four heads snapped at her direction in sync. Daryl gaped for a moment and then scowled, shooting her a furious glare. The Governor smirked in amusement. Shumpert's mouth twitched but otherwise he remained expressionless.

And Martinez was out of her field of vision, still behind her, by the door. He had said she couldn't count on him unless she had brought down the house first. There was too much at risk for him. He'd only chime in to a sure success. He had holstered a loaded gun in the back of her jeans, draped her tee shirt over it and wished her luck. Maybe, if she offed the Governor, Martinez would have her back with Shumpert. Maybe. Truth was she had no one else to rely on other than herself and her disputable skills in guns.

"Mouthy," the Governor snickered, lazily sauntering towards her. "Always fancied them like that."

"Don't touch her," Daryl muttered through gritted teeth, voice raspy and lethal. He had hauled himself up on his feet before the rest had the time to blink. Shumpert marched closer, keeping Daryl within arm's reach and Carol strived to figure out what Martinez thought of the situation.

Evidently having the time of his life, the Governor clasped his hands together and signaled his henchman to stay put with a light tilt of his chin. "Leave him be, Shumpert," he said calmly, with a feigned, divine benevolence. "Are you begging me, Dixon?"

"I'm warning you."

"What if I wanted you to beg me?"

His smirk broadened into what Carol identified as pure evil, suddenly aware that there was another blow molding, not a physical one; worst, a sneaky one, a blow below the belt. She pursed her lips, eyes flicking back on Daryl and she knew that he had seen it too. Facial features taut, he anticipated the pain with steel mettle, almost provoking it.

"You know, your brother didn't beg. Had him down to three fingers, beat the shit out of him, held a gun to his chest and his last words were 'I ain't begging' with that pathetic, redneck style of yours," the Governor chuckled before smacking his lips. "Not healthy catering suppressed desires, though. And I want to have a Dixon beg."

Carol chose not to goad him despite the temptation, being clever, _picking her fights_. The Governor was still far enough from Daryl not to constitute an imminent threat for him. For the moment, for her, that was enough. The rest could wait. It hurt her, though, watching him hurt. Not that he let slip anything away from his poker face, just an up and down bobbing of his throat, but it was enough for her to know beyond any doubt that he was swallowing back and avalanche of emotion that threatened to drown him. Her eyes stung, his pain was her pain and she swelled with pride when he snorted a humorless laugh.

"Be sure to keep a pair of eyes on your back when I send you to hell. My bastard brother's gonna be hunting you down through eternity." His voice dropped a full octave and he inched closer, much to Carol's dismay who started growing restless. "And you can suck my dick."

The lopsided smirk permanently plastered on the Governor's face creased into a grimace of disgust. "Or I could chop it off and shove it down your throat."

"Be my guest," Daryl sputtered and Carol instinctively trudged two labored steps closer to him.

Taking a long moment to nod contemplatively, the Governor's eye skimmed between his two captives. He leered, the wry mug of his cruelty hurled a shiver down Carol's spine and she saw Daryl tense.

"You're not begging for your life. We've established that," he stated matter-of-factly and then his head cocked towards Carol's direction. "What about hers? You know there's about a million things I could do to her before killing her. I could even go as far as letting her live after I'm done. Talk about some cruelty."

Carol was still like a statue, impossible to say whether she was breathing or not, staring at Daryl so intensely she thought her eyes would spontaneously combust and scorch into embers, but his gaze never lingered on her, transfixed on the man. Watching his biceps flex, irrefutable evidence that his bound hands were balled into fists, she swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to retch her repugnance.

The Governor grinned and her first thought was to grasp the gun and put a bullet in his head, but Shumpert was facing her full frontal and she knew she'd be dead right after.

Daryl blinked. "Ain't begging. Ain't betraying the group," he bit out, steadfast emphasis stressing each word. "A man with balls would fight _me_, not some kind of scrawny chick. But you ain't a man, no more than I'm Elvis. So, do whatever you want with her. She's expendable."

Given the gravity of their overall dire predicament, she shouldn't be deterred by the statement. She knew this much. She also knew that, despite the harshness, the words he spoke had an engraved truth on them. At least to him. She consented to their reasonableness and plausibility, but was too sentimental to sanction them as her life motto. Or maybe even too weak. Not everyone was expendable to her. Not Daryl. But he was better, stronger than that. He was a man of purpose, not of emotion. For her, it was a bald statement, deriving persuasion from its verisimilitude. For him, it was the unswerving truth, flapping the wings of its crude finality.

Expendable. It was rational. Logical. Rightful. It made sense. The group's safety came first. The rest of them, as individuals, were expendable.

He was right.

Why did it hurt then? So deep and so much? Like a peg poking at her heart, painfully maneuvering to gouge it out of her ribcage.

Muddled voices racked her mind. Not to Glenn. Not to Maggie. Maggie had given away the location of the prison to spare Glenn, putting them all in mortal peril and no one had ever questioned her decision. Not anyone was expendable to everyone. Only she, Carol.

Despite her best efforts, the imperturbable countenance she paraded the entire time faltered, eyes wrinkling into a cringe only for a moment before she grasped the helm of her facial contortion again and restored the nonchalance of her icy gaze.

Zoning out just for a split second, indulged in her jumbled reverie, she missed Daryl's stormy stare and the Governor's single eye sparkling in delight as it flicked repeatedly between them. Strategy or not, he had rationed it out. "Nice try, Dixon. Let's see how truly expendable the lady is."

The Governor inched closer to her and Daryl lunged at him blindly only to be knocked down immediately by Shumpert. He wriggled on the floor, hurt, dizzy and uncoordinated before the black man forced him back on his knees.

"Gotta be kidding me, Dixon," the Governor chortled, unholstering his gun, the frigid steel pressed on Daryl's temple. "She's everything but expendable to you."

Carol regarded Daryl with a broken adoration in her eyes –no reason to pretend anymore, the Governor knew that neither of them was willing to sacrifice the other. He was fuming hopeless, like a defeated lion. Alone. Beaten. Unarmed. He was outpowered, outnumbered, outgunned. And she was mad at him. Not for considering her expendable, but for considering himself even more expendable than her, trying to die protecting her like that.

Maybe it was the quagmire Daryl was sinking into, maybe it was Martinez patting his foot nervously behind her –unfalterable proof of him getting impatient, maybe it was that she really hoped that Daryl had bluffed in the first place –he didn't react like she was expendable at all, maybe it was the sight of him being threatened with a gun pointed to his head. Whatever it was, it succeeded as a kick in the rear, though, and she stepped up, as a person of her own. Not Ed's victim, not the Governor's captive, not Daryl's trainee, protégée, trusty, best friend, platonic love interest and whatever else trait could be attributed to her. She stepped up as Carol, an independent woman, in charge of herself and the situation.

All she wanted was to lure the Governor to her and all Daryl struggled for was to prevent it. But he was oblivious of so many things, of the hidden gun in her waistband above it all, and involuntarily sabotaged her tactic. Trying to follow his lead had proven wrong so she'd sidetrack him, refusing to be another pawn in this chess game when she could rein as the queen. If the Governor was batshit crazy, they couldn't use it against him. He had discovered their weakness now; he had regained control, retrieving the leverage. And she'd snag it back simply by admitting it, effectively rendering it useless.

"You kill him and I got nothing to lose," she said dryly. The declaration was blatant, conclusive, permitting no leeway for misinterpretations, disbelief, negotiation, doubts or anything adjacent. "No way you're getting what you want. You can do whatever you want with me. But he's untouchable."

"What are you fuckin' nuts?" Daryl barked, blazing eyes stabbing daggers at her face.

"Best watch how you're talking to me, Daryl! You're not my boss," she yelled back at him. "You have no saying on how I choose play my cards."

Her gaze pierced him through and through and, although he was still quaking with rage, she saw understanding obscuring his wide eyes. The message was conveyed, reached its destination; he knew she was up to something and he knew she was pleading him to cooperate. And, despite his clenched jaw and the muscles in his chin trembling, he said nothing, sagging back on his butt.

The gun was inside its holster again and the Governor ordered Shumpert to retreat with a cock of his head before turning to her.

A stride closer.

"I know your kind," he said wryly. "Mad at the world, feeling underestimated the entire god damn time when in reality you're nothing but a used, drained bitch."

Carol scoffed. "You know nothing about my kind."

Another stride.

"But there's still some fire in that one. Got to give you that," he offered, inspecting her cautiously through the slit of his narrowed gaze. "What would you give in exchange for him to live?"

"Anything," Carol said with a straight-faced detachment, looking him dead in the eye.

The Governor smirked again, taking another stride. "One, you tell me how to get inside the prison."

"Done."

"And two; after that, you belong to me," he droned.

Daryl maundered, but she didn't break eye contact with their assailant. "Done."

The Governor leered, eyebrow quirking in a curve almost tangent to his hairline and Carol huffed audibly, provoking him to step closer to her with a derisive glance, before turning to the opposite direction.

Another stride.

She had his full attention. The fish was biting.

Outwardly, she was mutely accepting her fate. Inwardly, she was assessing the angle between Shumpert and Martinez and the distance between Shumpert and herself.

The Governor was almost in front of her, half hiding Shumpert, and It was the first she had a good look at him. The eye-patch only veiled a hole, a blackish-tinged sinus cavity. And she was grateful there was just one left; just one eye to harbor the sinister sparks shimmering in the ebony iris. It seemed like the Devil was feasting in the pit of his existence, having prevailed step by step until there was no shred of humanity left. But it would be of no avail trying to coax the good squashed down inside him. He was a lost soul, an ex law-abiding civilian, a former family man who had irrevocably morphed into an atrocity. She wondered if Philip before the outburst bore any resemblance to the Governor looming before her and, as much as she craved for an affirmative response, her personal experience contradicted it. Philip might have been a complete stranger to the Governor, just like her present self was alien to her victimized counterpart back-when-everything-was-normal. At the end of the day, maybe they weren't that different after all; maybe it depended on where the equilibrium had tipped at the pivotal moment; maybe it was mere chance that he was the villain and they were the good guys; maybe it could have been the other around just as easily. Not that philosophical musings made any difference now.

"What's wrong with the women in this group? Anyone said that you're a sacrifice short of sainthood?"

_Don't die._ This still was a good advice, perfectly applicable, and that would be the tricky part. She was always just too prone to getting herself killed. But Daryl had backed off, just as she pleaded. He was trusting her; blindly, since he had no clue what her plan was and definitely against his better judgment. She had to be smart. Instrumental. Manipulative. Pull the strings of the Governor like he was a puppet, bringing him exactly where she wanted.

"Sacrifice?" she jibed, shafts of sarcasm coloring her voice. "You think that beatings and rapes scare me? Too bad you never met my husband."

"Where is he, your husband?"

"Stuck a pickaxe in his head."

"Maybe _I_ was the one to underestimate you,' he said, having no idea of the truth he grudgingly spoke. "We're gonna have so much fun, you and I."

He sneered as he closed the space between them with one final stride, smug and cocky and master of the situation – or so he thought.

Checkmate.

Carol took an instant to revel his delusions. She had won, she had won the moment he stepped right between her and Shumpert, blocking the clear view his accessory had on her, she had won and she knew it. Martinez shifted nervously behind her. It was time. The perfect moment. The only chance. One last thing before beaming him down to hell was to simply sputter it in his face.

_Don't you dare die._ She wouldn't. Not today. Against all odds, she'd still be alive in two seconds. Making him proud and he'd praise her for doing well.

She smiled at the Governor snidely, a fluid motion of her hand yanking the gun out of her waistband. Finger on the trigger and thumb removing the safety.

Shumpert couldn't see her.

The realization of his mortality and the inescapable death flashed in the monster's eyes, kindling something in that deranged mind of his. But there was no time to react, nothing to do to save himself, arms hanging loosely by his sides, not even moving to his gun. He used to be omnipotent, but at the moment he was pitiful: A sniveling, obsequious weasel of a human being, a reptile deprived of its venom.

"Perks of playing God, _darling_," Carol whispered.

The hands of the clock stumbled and paused, never rapping the next second. His time was up. A light squeeze, a deafening blast and the man who had converted their lives into a nightmare, snatching so much away from them, collapsed on the ground with a thud and a bullet crammed in his chest.

Everything unraveled in slow motion then, events proceeding in a haze as if time had dwindled, jading and dragging the seconds. Daryl on the background, gawking at her bewildered, head swirling frantically to Shumpert's direction, but she couldn't afford a moment to spare for him, her full attention instantly drifting on the black man who was pulling his gun. Arm straight and steady drawing an unwavering course, pointed to Shumpert pointing his back to her, zeroing in the target between his eyes. Daryl stormed in her peripheral vision, sprinting one, two, three gallops, trampling on the Governor's carcass. He lurched his body blindly at her and then he spun around in the air, momentarily floating in a gravity-free pirouette as strands of hair whipped the air, hurling beads of sweat to crown him in a glistening wreath.

Three simultaneous shots.

Gaze transfixed on Shumpert, Carol hardly saw her bullet smashing the spot that used to be his nasal cartilage, squelching his skull through and through as Daryl collided with her.

Daryl. Jerking in the middle of his leap, as if launched off from his original orbit, his brunt knocked the weapon out of her hand. Both arms wrapped around his waist in reflex and she clang to him, the only solid surface around. They were plunging on the ground sluggishly and she registered their fall inch by inch.

Another bullet jammed in to Shumpert's head and the corpse was out of her sight. She had fired once before Daryl tackled her. So had Martinez from behind her. But there had been three shots bouncing off the concrete walls. Shumpert had aimed at her and pulled the trigger but she was unscathed. Didn't bleed. Didn't feel any pain at all. On the contrary, she had never felt more alive, adrenaline ignited a maddening vault in her muscles. The son of a bitch had missed.

A feral ebullience wriggled up her throat and, had she been less distracted by the cement floor approaching her back, she would have cackled her sarcasm. The son of a bitch had missed.

The embrace was awkward and strained as both his wrists, still corded together behind his back, stuffed the space between them. She would land on the concrete floor and be crushed by his weight atop her. But she didn't care. They were alive. They were free. And she got to hold him again.

Everything had panned out like clockwork. She had heeded Martinez's advice down to a tee, waited, kept her shit together and when she fired she scored a bull's eye. For once, she had saved the day. For once, her accomplishment was nothing short of hands down triumph. For once, she was dancing in a fluffy bubble to the point that, suddenly, being sandwiched between two rocks was a triviality.

The exact same moment she vaguely wondered why was it that Daryl didn't flop over off her to let her breathe, her mind, howling in physical pain, caught up with the dampness in her hands. Both were still pressed across his torso, but there was something else too: viscous, sizzling liquid squirting through her fingers. Hands trembling, she leveled them over his form and gawked at the crimson-hued liquid drenching them, the one of ripe cherries in summertime, her formerly alleviated expression morphing into a mask of raw horror as the substance's identity wormed in her consciousness. Blood.

A whimper soared in the sultry, suffocating atmosphere of the room. And then a few ragged breaths and a torrent of gasping sobs. And then incoherent cries. And then just screams. High-pitched, shrill, perennial wails. None of them even remotely identifiable as her own. Brain numb at the confrontation of the ultimate calamity. The next thing she perceived was another gunshot –Martinez making sure that the Governor wouldn't reanimate- and then his forefinger hushed her vehemently before shuffling Daryl's limp form off her.

Shumpert hadn't missed.

_To be continued…_


	46. Expendable (Part II)

_**Hey everyone!**_

_**I'm insanely back replying to reviews and pms, but I'll spend tomorrow getting back at you guys. I promise!**_

_**You know the drill, read Part I first and then move on to Part 2. Hope you like it!**_

* * *

"_Daryl!" _

He heard her voice calling him and was just about to chide her for sobbing like that. She was fine, wasn't she?

Where was the bullet?

She had been fast, so fast, so much faster than the remaining two trained soldiers in the chamber. Took out the Governor –the Governor! Dead. Dead because Carol killed him. Carol! There was no context in which that simple, four-word fact – 'Carol killed the Governor'- wasn't tiptoeing on the thin line bordering on splendor and hilariousness in the same time.

Even for Daryl, even for the one person that really knew there was nothing that could thwart her once her mind was fixed on a purpose. Even for him, who had yet to discover one thing she wasn't capable of. Even for him, Carol killing the Governor was nothing short of a cosmic joke by any stretch of imagination.

And then she shot Shumpert.

But he had managed to fire too, hadn't he?

"_Daryl!"_

Where was the bullet?

No way was she getting away without her ass kicked this time, though, valor or not. Parading around with that permanent death wish flashing on her forehead was one thing. Igniting a gunfight in an isolated cabin in the woods like freakin' Rambo was an entirely different one. And she had done well. She had nailed it, deceived both the Governor and Shumpert as if they were stooges. Deceived even him.

"_Daryl!"_

Why was she crying then?

And why wasn't he moving to check her out?

Where was Martinez?

Where was the bullet?

Forcing his eyes to crack open just a slit, he was immediately blinded by the eerie, yellow light the lantern hanging loosely from the ceiling radiated in the room. She was there, hovering over him, but the luminous halo surrounding her head obscured her face.

"_Help me!"_

Sobs. Cries. Why?

Who was she begging for help? Why was she begging for help?

There was movement inside the room. Boots thumping, objects shuffling, Carol panting.

There was also a heavy encumbrance on his side. As if someone had thrust his entire weight on him.

Fuck, where was the bullet?

"_What are you doing? Help me!"_

He was being a fool, lying there like that. Why wasn't he moving? They had to get out of there. Walkers would flock the place with all that shooting and screeching.

He stirred to get up when a spear penetrated his side, effectively pinning him on the frigid ground. Avalanche of pain and viscerally jarring throes. It was fierce this pain, punctuating, worming a crawlway into his mind until his senses slacked. Impossible to be localized, it simply hurled blazing flames in every single cell of his body, prevailing inch by inch, rendering him useless. Motherfucker.

At least he knew where the bullet was.

And then it was Carol again. Right atop him.

"_Get my saddle bag, damn it! We need to stop the bleeding." _

She was rambling on and on and he was already slipping back when the pressure that had faltered the moment he started squirming was restored. The weight on his side was Carol. And the overwhelming torment ebbed just a little bit, snared under her palms. Just enough for him to cling to her voice and stay awake. Parts of the jigsaw were tangling together now. He must have been bleeding out and she was trying to limit the hemorrhage with her bare hands.

"_Daryl! Don't close your eyes. Please, don't close your eyes."_

Repositioned lower as she was now, her head blocked the light and he could finally make out her features. Taut, creased, distorted into a mask of horror and agony; eyes huge and red-rimmed.

Judging by her grim countenance alone it was pretty much obvious he wasn't going anywhere. Not any time soon. Not at all, probably.

She should go, though. Run. She had to.

"_Come on, we gotta get moving!"_

A man. Martinez.

"_No."_

She had to go. And yet her reluctance to leave him made him… happy.

But her tone was different now. Icy. No emotions behind it. No more tears. He almost wanted to chuckle. Martinez had no idea about the trouble he was putting himself into. Sweet Carol could be scarier than devil when she was determined to pull something through.

"_He's as good as dead, walkers are gathering and we're losing daylight. Now move!"_

Maybe he was dying then. Martinez definitely believed so and Carol's replies didn't do much to contradict this conclusion.

"_Shut up and help me."_

"_Suit yourself then, I'm leaving."_

Click.

He'd recognize a gun's safety cocking anywhere. But it wasn't possible. No way…

"_You're gonna help me or I'm killing you right now."_

"_Put the gun down, Carol."_

Jesus.

"_What, you think I won't do it? You wouldn't be the first man I killed today."_

Fuckin' Christ, she really was an idiot after all. Completely crazy. Granted the chance to flee this death trap, return to the rest of the group and be as safe as one could possibly be during the walker apocalypse. And she was chucking it away. The woman was mental. They needed to have her institutionalized.

"_He's dying for fuck's sakes!"_

"_He's not dying. You are unless you help me save him."_

"_Put the fuckin' gun down. I've already helped you-"_

"_And I helped you get rid of the Governor. I'm gonna pull the trigger, I swear!" _

"_Okay, okay."_

Something banged on the concrete floor and he knew she had tossed the gun away.

"_We need tools."_

"_I'll bring some stuff from the room next door. It was the Governor's torture chamber. All the equipment we need is there."_

"_Just hurry."_

"Get the fuck outta here." Hardly identifiable, this was still his voice. Raspy, strained, whispery and ragged like a dying rattle, but stern. Ordering her.

Never had he thought that there would come a time when he'd hand her over to someone else, trusting him with her life. He resented how short of choices he was, how the lack of alternatives cast its shadow over him. He didn't trust Martinez. He wouldn't trust anyone to protect and keep her alive, not under any circumstances. This was his job, his duty. A duty he took great pleasure executing. The only duty that ever came with him feeling like a hero. Maybe at the end of the day, it was just his purpose. Nobody had forced him to be Carol's shadow. It had always been his choice. Since day one.

She would heed his command now, blurt a choked goodbye and leave him here to die alone.

He was cold.

"Sssh… Don't talk. You're gonna be fine."

And she was an idiot, not complying with simple logic. He had to insist, scold her, offend her, force her to flee this god damn death trap. Only he didn't want to. He didn't want to die staring at the grey ceiling. He didn't want to die alone. Not like Merle. He preferred dying looking at the undulated ocean of her eyes, though stormy, though bloodshot, they were dry now. He wanted to deserve this much.

He could just let go. He knew, having a long abuse history all of his own, he knew that the more he resisted pain and suffering, the stronger they became. If he died fast enough, she might still have time to save herself. He was okay letting go of his life. Problem was he wasn't okay letting go of her. He was an idiot, just like she was. Even worse, he was selfish.

And then Martinez was by his other side.

"_No way he's gonna make it back to the prison with the bullet crammed inside. You have to take it out, hope we'll manage to control the bleeding after."_

Martinez hadn't left. Why hadn't he left? He had walked away and come back with his own free will. A bunch of whackos, that's what they were, all three of them.

But it was a good twist that Martinez hadn't left. She couldn't just stay there by herself and a corpse. He had never sincerely believed she'd summon the courage and be gutsy enough to put him down in case he turned and trudged to eat her alive. But then again, he might not give her enough credit. Carol always delivered on her promises.

Anyway, one less worry. Martinez was there to make sure he wouldn't constitute a physical threat to her.

"_I don't know how to do that." _

Carol again. Admitting the one thing she had yet to excel during the apocalypse: becoming an open heart surgeon.

"_But I can try. Maybe the bullet's not too deep and as far as I can say the blood would have a different color if it had hit the liver or the spleen."_

Of course she was going to try to be one, right there right now. If only he could scoff out loud. These absurdities were so much in character for her, it wasn't even funny.

"_We had a guy back in Woodbury, Milton. He taught every soldier a few basics. All I can promise is that I'll do my best." _

"_Daryl, hang in there. We got you, you're gonna be just fine." _

He almost wept when he remembered calling her expendable. It was a strategic move. A bluff. A bluff he failed to back up the moment her safety was jeopardized. He needed a chance to apologize for this word, nevertheless. Bluff or not. She might have rationed it out, but he still had to apologize for that loaded characterization, even if sacrificing himself for her in the next minute was an explicit enough refutation. Not only bullets and arrows caused pain. Carol said that words hurt as well.

Fuck. He was going to do it after all, wasn't he? Be the ultimate fiasco. Violate every principle steering his life – or what he had mistakenly considered life to be- for almost forty years, every single lesson he painstakingly ingrained in her brain.

'Never show fear.' And yet, he was scared like a little, helpless boy.

'Don't die. Don't you dare die.' And yet, he was the one dying on her.

She had done so much better than him. The novice had surpassed the master. He was so fuckin' proud of her.

"_Carol, I need you to apply pressure here with your finger. Stop the blood from jetting otherwise I can't see anything. You think you can do it without passing out?"_

"_It'll take a lot more than a little blood for me to pass out."_

"_Best pray it works."_

"_Daryl hates praying. Just do it."_

And he had to tell her, let her know. That he was sorry and proud. That there was nothing he wouldn't give for a second chance. "Carol-"

But the devouring pain was back.

So was darkness.

* * *

"_What time is it?"_

"_Past midnight. How's your boy doing?"_

Fingers were curled around his wrist and a tickling palpation on his veins. Another hand stroking his temples, wiping away beads of sweat. Carol, still there. As insanely as he longed to lean into it, he couldn't, stuck in the middle of an inner warfare. It was of the utmost importance to win this full-blown battle, the battle for his life, and the only weapon bestowed upon him was a gentle touch.

"_He's strong. Pumped him up with antibiotics and everything."_

"_Fever?"_

"_No. How are things outside?"_

"_The place is swamped with walkers. We're stuck here for a while."_

"_Works for me."_

"_It ain't like I had a hot date or anything, either."_

"_Why did you stay, Martinez?"_

"_You pointed a gun at me in case you forgot."_

"_And then I let you walk away. Why did you stay?"_

"_You two fought like hell. You both deserve to get outta here in a piece. But you really are a crazy bitch."_

"_Sounds like me."_

* * *

"_Martinez, wake up. Eat something. It's almost noon."_

"_What about you?"_

"_I'm fine."_

"_I'll go have a look outside."_

"_No need to. Walkers are everywhere."_

A drenched rag swept his face, rinsing the haze away and cool fingers raked his hair. "Daryl, open your eyes. Look at me."

Eyelashes batted drowsily for a while as he was vacillating between consciousness and darkness. A bottle was pressed against his chapped lips and he mustered all his strength to part them and focus on the familiar face leaning over him. Carol, still there.

Carol smiling. Smiling and crying in sync, like the crazy person she was. Scared and brave at the same time. "Hey... You have to drink some water."

Swallowing down a few sips with great exertion and spilling most of it in the process, he took in her figure: clothes and arms covered in blood. "You hurt?"

"What?" She was startled by the question, eyeing him warily like he had lost his mind. "No."

"Blood," he grunted.

Her gaze flicked on her tank top and then back on him. "It's not mine, it's yours."

"Good."

The next thing she said, he missed it.

* * *

"_For a woman who walks around threatening people, you certainly cry a lot."_

"_And for someone who claims to be a murderer, you are a pretty decent guy."_

"_You need to get some shut eye, Carol."_

Carol, still there.

"_I don't need to do anything until he wakes up."_

* * *

The pressure around his fingers was constantly present, but every single time he attempted to squeeze back, he sank deeper into the pitch black of a never ending night as if losing his focus on staying alive. Tensing his coarse digits under her grip was the best he could achieve but she was generous and frugal, rewarding his inhumane effort with a kiss in the back of his hand. What a pathetic incentive for a Dixon, mentally screaming at his hand to twitch, even imperceptibly, just to earn a kiss. Merle would leer for his pussy lil' bro, but Daryl didn't have the luxury to care about something so trivial right now.

Lips brushed across his knuckles again. Carol, still there.

Wasn't this crazy woman tired of fighting tooth and nail for him? On impulse, thoughts about him not being worthy of her bubbled up, his non-existent self-esteem and every emotional hurdle, but weirdly enough he tamed them instantly. Why did all that bullshit he kept spitting around the entire fuckin' time matter, damn it? They were who they were. She had risked everything for him and he had sprinted to collect the bullet that was percolating a path straight into her heart. Worth and value and honor and jibber-jabbering crap. None of them bore any substance, not when two people jumped into fire to save each other. Carol wasn't a fool. He had been the blind one.

And now she was struggling to save him and all he wanted was to survive this and be with her again.

Survive. It had always been a thing of sheer ability to him. He survived because he could do it. Always a matter of skill, aptness, dexterity, readiness, resourcefulness, a combination of multiple qualifications and practice. Never of volition. Never until now. Now his life depended on others, on a man he'd call a foe and on a woman he… A woman he just had to die in the process of saving if that's what it'd take; a woman he couldn't lose. Now he had zero saying on whether and how he would survive this and all he wanted was to contrive a way to. To survive and that other thing Carol was constantly yapping about. To live. These two things aren't the same, she always said. He'd admonish her swiftly by grumbling that philosophical concerns would make her the ideal walker bait. But she had been right, spot on since the very beginning.

He had always believed –stridently, with that pig-headed Dixon stubbornness that was rarely built on firm foundations- that it was death that brought a man's journey full circle. Complete or not, it didn't matter and definitely didn't make much difference anyway. You died and that was it. Curtain falls. The end. _Finito_. Carol had disagreed the night they shared their thoughts during watch duty, not even a month earlier, but he hadn't given it much thought back then. Of course Carol had disagreed. Carol always disagreed with this kind of blatant declarations. She had said something about the journey coming full circle with love, not death.

Jumbled reveries. Delirium. Incoherent repentances that were of no avail now. And yet, he couldn't escape them.

"_I'm here, Daryl. Don't leave me."_

Carol, still there. He hated his hand vehemently for staying limp inside hers.

Why was it that he wanted to cry? Why did it feel improper and unethical to die without loving, without being loved first? Why did the journey seem incomplete? Like sneaking out from the back door and leaving unfinished business inside due to cowardliness? Why now? Why did he suddenly crave to do his life justice now, at the threshold of hell? Life never meant much to him. He had come on earth by accident and had always lived instinctively, by chance, never bothered to build relationships, bonds, addictions from people around him. He had been roaming through life, nonchalant and distant. Death never constituted much of a menace; it was just a possible outcome, before as well as after the apocalypse. He had lived impervious and he always believed he'd die as such. Nothing unnerving about dying.

Not until now. Now that the Grim Reaper was stealthily wrapping his bony arms around him, enveloping him beneath his black cloak and Carol was struggling to snatch him back from the unyielding embrace like a wounded lioness defending her mate, grappling the evanescent life and pinning it back. He regretted; everything. Every little thing he had been just too much of a wimp to explore. Not touching. Not caressing. Not kissing. Not loving. He didn't hesitate to jump in front of a bullet for her. Just like she hadn't blink twice before confronting two armed men. It seemed unfair now. Leaving this life like that. With the journey incomplete. Carol had been right about it. But then again, Carol was always right. He could see it now, whenever he managed to lift the latch trampling his blurry vision, he could see it, in the powder blue gaze willing him to live, only a tad too late. It was the one single thing he had to cling to, the only one hobbling him to life.

And he was pissed and frightened. At the merciless universe, at the deceitful deities steering their lives and mocking him. This wasn't fair; it had taken him the end of the world and a bullet stuck in his innards, but now his life made sense. He didn't want to die, he wanted to stick around Carol for a lot longer. For as long as he could. His time couldn't be up, not when he felt that theirs wasn't. His fuckin' journey wasn't full circle. Not yet.

* * *

"_I think you saved his life."_

That small hand, never leaving his. Carol, still there.

"_He ain't out of the woods yet." _

"_He's gonna make it. He has to."_

"_I'm worried about the way I dug that bullet out. Hope I didn't do more damage than actual good."_

* * *

"_Martinez?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Can I ask you something?"_

"_Reckon we're past formalities."_

"_Did you know what the Governor did to Andrea?"_

"_He told Shumpert and me that she was a traitor. Took me a while to figure that he was the lunatic behind everything. But yes, I knew. She was your friend?"_

"_Family. Saved my life a long time ago. That's how she got separated from the group and ended up in Woodbury."_

"_I'm sorry, Carol."_

"_Why did you pass me that gun? You didn't have to."_

"_End of the world or not, I ain't no rapist, no women and children murderer. We can still make some kind of choices, you know, and I choose not to be that. At least not anymore. Besides I left everything on you. You did the hard part." _

"_Come with us. I'll tell everyone how you saved us both and then helped Daryl. We'd vouch for you."_

"_I tortured your friends, that girl and the Asian guy and you sheltered people from Woodbury back there. They'd never take me in. Can you blame them?"_

"_I just wish there was a way…"_

"_Maybe I'm lucky enough to find another group. Start fresh. Clean slate and all."_

* * *

"_He's coming around."_

The haze had obliterated, leaving a thinly-veiled mist in the aftermath of perishing. He was worn out, dizzy and heavy-lidded, but awake, about to shoot his eyes open any second now. The light squeeze in his hand wasn't coaxing him out of the abyss anymore, it simply bolstered his will to fast-track his resurface. Carol, still there; always. No doubt he was reciprocating the hold this time, fingers clamped forcefully around hers, mutely conveying that he was clawing his way back with everything he had.

"_Finally. It's been three days. The asshole took his time. Drunk most of our water in the process."_

"_Don't be mean."_

"_Maybe you can stop cryin' now? My ears are buzzin'."_

"_I'll try."_

"_Last time you said that, it was two days ago."_

"_I'm trying."_

"_Walkers have lessened. We can clear the place, carry him to the car and hit the road. It's a long ride to where your truck is left."_

Daryl coughed and for the first time since what seemed like an eternity, the voice he uttered resembled to his own. "You're clearin' the place alone, sunshine. She stays inside." His eyes, uncoordinated and foggy strived to adjust in the penumbra of the room, fingers locked around Carol's in an unbreakable, on the verge of brutal, grip.

"Rise and shine, sleepin' beauty. I'll see what I can do." In his peripheral view, Martinez scoffed and headed to the door, but he didn't spare him a direct glance.

The echoing gait faded away and he lolled his head to meet Carol who was plopped on a chair next to him, offering a tight-lipped smile and a torrent of salty droplets rolling down her face. Eyes hollow and cheeks dented, she looked skinnier that ever before and he wondered if he laid in that cot for more than three days, three months maybe. She was exhausted and he was angry she never bothered to take care of herself, but she was glowing like a spring of endless light as well and he found it impossible to sincerely admonish her.

"You look like shit," he muttered sullenly before the corner of his mouth quirked upwards into a crooked smile. "Can't close my eyes for a second and you starve yourself to death."

Jokes always worked with her, turning the guarded smile into a toothy grin that brightened up her face even more, as if it was even possible.

He regarded her intensely, thumb catching a shiny tear gliding across her jaw line before it drizzled on the mattress. "Stop your crying now, will you?"

"I can't," she confided as his hand lingered on her face with hers dawdling above it, enticed along the unrefined movements – a tangible indication of his affection. "Martinez thinks I'm some kind of freak that I just can't stop."

Daryl chuckled. "You _are_ a freak, but ain't nothing worth crying over here."

Nodding, she sloppily wiped her eyes only for fresh tears to form, brim and glide down immediately. She shrugged, laughing off her embarrassment. "See? Can't help it."

There was no mellowing out her distraught nerves any time soon; this much was plain as daylight after what she'd been trough. So he opted to maintain the light tone, winking conspiratorially. "Just make sure we ain't getting drowned, ok?"

She didn't laugh this time, though, just cupped his hand with both hers, never breaking eye contact. "Care to do me a favor?"

"Now? What?"

"Stay awake, please." Full of hope and desperate simultaneously she was while articulating her request, blue gaze sparkling from expectation that jiggled the watery puddle behind the fan of her eyelashes. She looked like a little girl, afraid to open her Christmas present because the last year's one had been an utter disappointment. No question if the box was empty and the word 'expendable' scribbled in the bottom.

Groaning and wincing in pain, he propped up on his elbow, muscles stiff and dysfunctional from lack of basic exercise, but it barely registered with him as he slanted a notch on his good side. Fingers interlaced in her lap now, his smirk had vanished and replenished by a dead serious expression and a pair of kindling eyes. "Ain't never been more awake in my life, Carol."

* * *

_**No, I wasn't gutsy enough to let Daryl die :)**_

_**Ok, this one gave me hell to write. I couldn't get the idea to do it through Daryl's POV out of my head and… well, it turned out trickier than I had planned. For obvious reasons, Daryl being unconscious and all. I'd really like to know what you think of Martinez as well.**_

_**This story can end here, but I also have a few ideas about how it could play out to tie up some loose ends. So let me know if you want a last part, otherwise I'm moving on to something new :)**_


	47. Expendable (Part III)

_**Hi everyone :)**_

_**Sorry for the delay, tough week, really tough week. I hope this chapter is worth the waiting and makes it up a bit for my scattered updates. I mostly hate it, tbh, plus it's a real Ben-Hur, almost 9000 words, so bear with me!**_

_**Dedicated to Andy, with love and gratitude.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

"What do you mean _you_ killed the Governor?"

It was Bob who asked, just a moment before the silence in the common room rendered them uncomfortable, but by the bunch of mouths hanging agape, it was evident that the same question waltzed on every tongue of the people fanning out across them.

Daryl and Carol were presumed dead after being missing for four days, so the unforeseen reunion had been enthusiastic and teary when their truck appeared at the prison gate. Gargling laughter and squeezing hugs for Carol, friendly pats and supportive arms for Daryl before they all gathered for the briefing. The air changed significantly, though, when Carol broke the news.

Daryl was sprawled on a chair, brewing in his own anger with the outright incredulous looks transfixed on Carol, gawking like she had popped a third eye or something while she fidgeted behind him shifting her weight, hands curling and unfurling on the back of his chair. Her breathing was unsteady and even without facing her, he could visualize the hunched shoulders as she shriveled away from the unsolicited inquisition. He had been right; the meeting should have waited until after they rested.

"Um- I had the gun and the opportunity and I shot him," she muttered.

"Just like that?" Sasha blundered, still slack-jawed. "_You_ shot the Governor just like that?"

"And Shumpert," Daryl grunted, chewing his lower lip. His gaze skimmed around and other than Rick's tentative smile, Carl's grin, Glenn's wink to Carol, Maggie's exclamation that the Peletier machine was now functioning in full capacity and Hershel's calm approval, the rest of them wouldn't look more startled had a polar bear been sauntering between them swigging down martinis. Pfff… Woodburians. "She took both of them out."

"We wouldn't have made it on our own," Carol went on, voice wavering in dire need to veer the attention off her. Shimming her hand in the pocket of her jeans she fished out the bullet, slowly setting it on the table before Daryl as if exhibiting vindicating evidence on behalf of an indictee tried in absentia. "Martinez helped us. He gave me the gun and saved Daryl's life. We owe him. So if he ever appears in the fence, please, don't just shoot to kill. Call one of us first."

He saw it, the dark shadow obfuscating Glenn's regal features; he saw it just a split second before he took a step forward, brow furrowed. And Carol stiffening behind him at what she might consider a justified or unwarranted aggression.

"Carol, you can't ask us to forget what he's done!"

"He saved Daryl, Glenn," she countered dryly.

"But-"

"No, Glenn!" Maggie bellowed. "That's not the time to talk about it."

"Simmer down, boy," Hershel intervened with that familiar twinkle of serenity and wisdom in his gaze. "Carol and Daryl have been through a lot."

"Glenn," Carol spoke again, pleadingly this time, but the Asian man was regarding her coldly. "He saved Daryl."

Jumbled voices chimed in to support Glenn who kept his mouth sealed nonetheless, people talking simultaneously, overlapping sentences not making sense.

"So what? He threatened to shoot us all down when we tried to flee Woodbury."

"I don't trust him. Never will."

"Our families are dead because he didn't stop the Governor."

"He let _him_ kill Noah right before my eyes. _He_ murdered everyone and Martinez just watched."

"If he backstabbed the Governor, who says he won't do the same to us?"

Even Ty, the good-hearted giant bridging the gap between Woodbury and the prison group was at a loss for words, simply shaking his head at Carol.

Daryl was riled up beyond comprehension. What the fuck was wrong with all those dickheads? She was vulnerable right now. Agony, insomnia, fear and uncertainty had obliterated her from every ounce of courage slithering in her veins. Not that he was in better shape, but lack of her natural mildness combined with the façade of hostility he permanently paraded around dubbed him as the last stronghold between Carol and anyone else screaming into her face. Even with him injured and weak, nobody mustered the bravado to come any closer to her as he squared his shoulders in the chair, restraining himself from lashing out and start catapulting bolts.

A firm gait echoed in the confided space and came to a halt right in the middle of the two opposing sides; Rick, wedging himself between Carol and Daryl, lodged in his back, and everyone else in front of him. "Let's talk this through later, ok? You guys are dead on your feet now. Have a shower and some rest," he said calmly, peering over his shoulder and then addressed the rest of the crowd. "Martinez ain't a problem right now, he can wait for later. Our people come first."

Everyone hesitated, babbling out snarky remarks and protestations, reluctant to let the topic drop. Daryl squinted at Carol, the only one to hastily nod in agreement. A light squeeze on his shoulder and she trotted out of the crammed room, head up but chin trembling.

A nebula of whispers wafted from private conversations, rolled between the mass and Rick who chanted for a peaceful resolution with arms outstretched defensively striving to keep the overflowing tension in check, and settled in the suffocating atmosphere as an ominous haze. But Daryl had been fighting off haze in an open battlefield for the past four days and was beyond sick of it, emotionally as well as physically.

Soon enough the tempestuous commotion seemed oblivious of the hunter's presence scrutinizing everything from his chair, not having moved an inch. He remained silent while peeved people, both from the prison and the Woodbury group, threw all kinds of rational and irrational fits, a presence almost translucent as most of them never cast a peek in his direction. Until some trudged to the door and then a guttural snarl, radiating from his spot sent shivers rattling down their spines.

"I ain't done talkin'," Daryl growled, the icy pang in his tone freezing everyone in place.

The ebbing altercations ceased abruptly as multiple pairs of eyes landed on him and Rick approached his side. Inspecting each figure seperately, Daryl waited until their vague apprehension morphed into fear at the sight of his inimical countenance.

For most of them, this was the first encounter they'd ever had with the mortal peril Daryl Dixon could constitute when not protecting them. "Reckon you people haven't put two and two together about what happened out there. I'm gonna repeat everything twice to straighten this out for you and best keep your ears open 'cause there ain't gonna be a third time."

Stifling a painful groan with each inward breath –a couple of broken ribs yet to be healed along with the bullet wound-, he ignored the throbbing twinge in his side, eyes prying his audience like a carnivore predator stalking his prey. Giving a speech was really low on his list of priorities –not the Dixon way of dealing with open issues. His fists itched but he doubted he could lunge blindly throwing punches, since he could barely stagger a few steps before collapsing on the ground.

"The Governor beat the shit outta me and then brought Carol in the room to use us against each other. Glenn, Maggie, you know how this works, right? Martinez had a gun hidden in Carol's waistband, gave her the leverage. When Shumpert shot me, Martinez wanted to leave. She fuckin' pulled a gun on him and threatened to kill him in cold blood unless he helped me. But it's Carol we're talkin' about, have you guys met Carol? She's the same woman who brings you food and does your filthy laundry and plays shrink when you have your god damn blues and existential fuckin' crises, so she let him walk away right after. But he didn't. He stayed with his own free will, dug that bullet," his hand shot out, grabbing the metallic cylinder that almost cost his life and tossed it on the concrete floor, nostrils flaring, "_that_ bullet over there out of my ribs and then waited with her for three fuckin' days while I was takin' my beauty nap."

Nothing wriggled in the eerie hush of the room as he heaved a few shaky breaths, striving to maintain his exploding rage leashed. "I know Martinez helped Merle hurt you. Fuck, I was part of the group that ran to your rescue, wasn't I?" he sputtered towards Glenn's direction before turning to the rest. "I know he terrorized you all, but he was followin' his leader's orders and he thought that he was doin' the right thing, keepin' people from Woodbury safe both from outsiders and walkers. Is it really that different from what I do for you? Yeah, he screwed up in the end when the Governor executed half of his people and he still followed him, but I can't remember myself ever turnin' against Rick, even when his decisions got my brother killed. That's how fuckin' loyalty works and, guess what, sometimes it backfires in your face. How different do all you geniuses think Martinez is from me?"

His knees buckled when he hurled on his feet, the chair toppling over from the brunt of his movement, but he ignored Rick's hand jerking to assist him and leaned heavily upon the table, elbows shaking and teeth gritted. "If he wasn't there, I'd be dead. If he wasn't there and I turned, Carol would have to put me down. If he wasn't there and by some twisted miracle I was still alive, Carol would be stuck with a comatose man for three days _alone_ in the woods, _no_ supplies, _no_ antibiotics and _no_ god damn way to bring us back here. I doubt we'll ever hear from Martinez again, but if we do and she wants to take him in, better not even think about bullyin' her or you'll have to deal with me. You don't want to give that asshole a free pass for savin' my sorry ass, it's just fine with me, I don't give a shit. But you'll do it for her, whether you like it or not. If he shows up and she wants to take him in, you better put a smile and do a happy dance, or else we're both outta here.-

"So here's a lil' memo for the next time you feel like brayin' around: You all zip your yappin' traps and go make yourselves useful somewhere else and never, _ever_ even think about pullin' with her the same Merle shit you pulled with me." Daryl glowered down on Glenn and Michonne who had joined the former's side, his raving gaze journeying around then, stabbing daggers to every person not already staring at their feet. "She hasn't slept for four days. She's this fuckin' far from snappin' right now and I reckon none of you wants to be the person to hammer the last nail in that coffin, 'cause if you do," his voice dropped a full octave, punctuating the following words with lethal menace, "I don't give a shit how fast you run. I _hunt_. I _track_. And I'll have an arrow with _your_ name on it."

The flapping wings of a sparrow would have reverberated like a jumbo jet in the dead silence of the prison walls.

"I believe we have an understandin'." Daryl wrapped up his speech without as much as a rhetorical question since the leeway for negotiations was stuffed long ago. His face had turned chalky white by his stamina wearing off briskly, but his eyes kept raking his audience, daring anyone dauntless enough to challenge him.

Nobody moved, nobody breathed or dared to glance up at him.

"Show's over, guys. Reckon you all have chores to do," Rick swiftly dismissed the crowd that scurried in every direction after the imminent death threat dangling over their heads.

Glenn was the last one to stay in the common room, closing the distance between himself and Daryl with a few long strides under Hershel's and Rick's hawk eyes. Ire had tided away and now he simply looked hurt by the man's speech. "Daryl, you and Carol are my family. You think I've forgotten?"

He was so done talking. He had done more talking in the last few minutes than he normally did in a month and, quite frankly, he could skip doing it for a year now, let alone he had yet to talk with Carol. But it was Glenn standing in front of him; Glenn, who truly was family. "And you think I don't know you have every right to feel the way you do about Martinez?" he sighed. "But this time I mean it. Leave her alone."

"But Martinez-"

"Martinez found himself in the Governor's camp just as I found myself in the quarry. By accident! Don't you fuckin' get it? We ain't like you, Glenn. For men like him and me it was a matter of where the ball landed during the outbreak. Choices came way later, roles could have been reversed just as easily. _He_ could be standing here now and _I_ could have been part of the Woodbury army with my brother," Daryl hissed, wheezing a labored breath, and swayed precariously.

It was Rick that grabbed him, hoisting his arm around his shoulders as Glenn threaded his fingers through his hair.

"That's enough, Glenn."

Hershel hobbled past them, head pointing to the hallway. "Come on, Daryl. Let's go help you get cleaned up, son."

"Someone fetch me the fuckin' bullet," Daryl grumbled, mind racing to the last task yet to be done.

* * *

_The day before_

"She can take care of herself long enough to take a leak."

Gaze clinging to Carol until she ducked and disappeared behind the dense foliage of a tree cluster, Daryl had blushed ten hues of crimson. "Luckier than me, I guess." Yep, recovery from all kinds of physical trauma would be a cinch compared to the bruised ego of a Dixon too puny to relieve himself without the help of another man. Multiply it with a million if that man was the same guy he owed his life to, square it that he had kept Carol safe while he couldn't and that's about how sullied the rampaged remnants of his dignity and reputation seemed to Daryl.

"Can't say the size of your dick turned my knees into jelly," Martinez snickered.

"Still big enough to tear your asshole in half, sunshine."

"Love to see you try, sugar."

Surprisingly enough, he let the challenge soar in the air. As grumpy as he might have been after Martinez stormed into the room at the exact moment he was about to make crystal clear to Carol how expendable she was _not,_ he didn't –couldn't- hold a grudge against him. First of all, he owed him both their lives, and even if he didn't hold his own in great prestige, Carol's was anything but a trivial debt. Second, he had to interrupt them; they had to move from the cabin and the opportunity was ideal –heart to heart confessions had to wait for later. The outcome had proven Martinez right. Without much trouble he and Carol managed to drag Daryl in the jeep and drive away. So, there they were now. Back to where they were originally abducted by the Governor, Shumpert and Martinez, back to their pick-up truck, back to the vehicle that would lead him and Carol to the prison.

But it still bugged him. With Chupacabra being a sparkling exception, Daryl didn't believe in many intangible pitfalls in life. Superstitions were for idiots; but one he believed in with religious reverence was the domino effect a single stroke of bad luck could trigger. If allowed to blow out of proportion, it blistered exponentially, jinxing and snowballing everything in its wake.

The ride back to their pick-up hadn't just been way longer than expected, it had also been bumpy. And it had proven his previous point. What was obviously off with Carol since he had woken up only escalated with each ticking minute, her composure quivering like a house of cards as she retreated in her shell, introverted and taciturn, and much to Daryl's dismay, way more comfortable and talkative with Martinez than with him. She hadn't addressed him at all, actually, save to ask how he was each time the jeep hit a pothole or large gaping crevices. Martinez would warn them for the forthcoming juddering and she'd latch on Daryl's shoulder to keep the jostling in check.

He had figured out the problem quickly; her brain was working in frenzy, still striving to accept that he had indeed survived this, pumping a hypersecretion of adrenaline into an exhausted body. Brain vigilant, but mind numb. Yet, he had no idea how to ease up this inner tumult whipping her through and through. The one and only priority right now was for her to calm down and rest, not a step forward could be accomplished until this premise was satisfied; but her eyes had never been wider and the perspective of chilling out in the adjacent future shadowed as an inconceivable luxury.

And she was inspecting him like he was a figment of her imagination or a ghost ripe to evanesce the moment she averted her gaze, not talking to him, yet staring at him blankly without even blinking. Cozily settled on the back bench with her, head on her lap and a pillow stuffed between them, he stubbornly coerced his eyes to remain open, fulfilling his earlier promise to stay awake. Dainty fingers were stroking his facial lines as if she was memorizing his features, tucking unruly brands of hair behind his ears before maundering around and pausing above his heart. Carol, counting his heartbeats.

He shook the memories from his head and focused on Martinez, who was sorting out supplies and pills on the hood of the truck between his back pack and Carol's saddle bag. "Has she slept? At all?"

"Not that I know of. It was touch and go for a while, we didn't know if you were gonna make it. She's running on fumes now," Martinez pointed out the obvious. "Can't go on for long like this."

Daryl blew out a huge amount of air he had been withholding. "Thanks," he said finally, this simple word coming out strained.

"For saving your redneck ass? Any time, sugar." Martinez replied casually with a nonchalant lift of his shoulders. "You gave me a cigarette once. About time I returned the favor."

Daryl smirked; as much as he hated to admit it, he liked the guy. "Gimme a cigarette now and I'll be your bitch."

"Haven't seen one for a while," Martinez huffed. "Bunch of weirdos we human beings are… The world goes to shit and the first stuff to disappear are cigarettes and liquor."

"I owe you," Daryl muttered hastily, jaw clenched. Gratitude was… just so hard to be verbalized. "Doesn't happen every day."

"Thought the score was settled now. A bullet for a cigarette and we're square."

"No," Daryl countered. "You saved her, too. I still owe you."

Martinez glanced up at him. "She didn't need saving," he stated matter-of-factly. "She was the one doing it."

"Things would have turned out differently if she didn't have the gun." A deep wrinkle lacerated his forehead as he swallowed hard the knot in his throat, picking on an already mangled thumbnail. Maybe, after a few years, he'd be able to contrive a way to stave off the sick images of Carol in the Governor's hands if Martinez hadn't unexpectedly switched sides.

"I'm just glad I didn't have to give you mouth to mouth," Martinez sneered, detonating the loaded mood. "Would have left this part to Carol."

Daryl snorted a laugh. "You'd better."

Nearly done stuffing and stowing things away, Martinez grew pensive, forehead etched in a scowl. "I didn't think she'd manage to take them both out."

Still gnawing on raw flesh, Daryl nodded contemplatively for a moment. As proud as he was of her, as unexpectedly fantastic the aftermath of their hazardous enterprise seemed under the fading daylight, he was still brooding on alternative treads; ones that spared Carol from shooting down two living persons and had him taking care of the dirty job. And her.

"Yeah," he drawled finally. "People tend to underestimate her. But she's tough. Tougher than the toughest son of a bitch." Martinez's quizzical look kept roving over him and he felt compelled to elaborate. "She wouldn't have shot you, though. No way."

It was his interlocutor's turn to fall silent, mulling over his next answer. "I know," he said finally. "We are killers, you and I. Takes one to know one. She killed two people without a blink but that doesn't qualify her as a killer. She was just surviving, protecting her own." Placing Carol's bag on the passenger seat next to Daryl, he gazed at him meaningfully. "But you are one lucky bastard, Dixon. Hope you know it already. She's a fool, could have ridden off with me in the sunset but wouldn't leave you no matter what."

Daryl heaved a deep sigh, stifling a wince of pain as his ribs billowed. His hand covered his bandaged side on instinct, but his hunter's eyes narrowed, already staring at the tree line, scanning the length of it, stalking for Carol to emerge any second now. "I know. She's fool enough to die over nothin'."

"It seemed to me that both of you were."

There she was, trudging out of the woods, heavy-footed.

Martinez took notice of her, too, and zipped his back pack. "As much as I'd like to stick around and give you hell for letting a girl save your ass, I best get going. I'm burning the light."

Daryl cleared his throat. "Good luck. Things go south, you know where to find us. And thanks for the shirt, too. Had no idea these ugly paisleys had survived ancient Mesopotamia, but still…"

The other man scoffed as he swung the pack over his shoulder but a flash of surprise crossed his features at Daryl's outstretched hand. He clasped it, though, with a sharp nod and Daryl knew that his firm grip, present just an instant more than necessary, conveyed the bone deep gratitude that flickered unspoken on the tip of his tongue.

"You, too."

Spinning around, he ambled back to his jeep and met Carol.

Hands on her waist, she offered him a warm smile. "Guess you're leaving us then."

Martinez mirrored her expression and Daryl rolled his eyes, watching them through the windshield of the pick-up. So typical of Carol; trust her to have a deadly badass like Martinez regarding her puppy-eyed.

"Unless you're planning to draw a gun on me, my job here's done, ma'am," he said dramatically and Carol grinned. "Off to save the rest of the world now."

"And there's absolutely nothing we can do to make you change your mind?"

He chuckled wholeheartedly this time, tossing the back pack inside the car. "Don't count on your magic, Carol. I'm one headstrong piece of shit and, from what I've seen, you've had your fair share of practice with assholes of my kind."

She rolled her eyes, hands defensively lifted on the air as her friendly expression dropped into a sad frown without pity, but full of empathy. "What's your name?" she asked out of the blue.

"You know my name."

The man was inspecting her warily, but Daryl smirked. Having served _his_ fair share of practicing to read between her lines, he was eventually adept enough to fathom the intentions looming behind the mysterious question. Typical Carol again, humanizing everyone; making them real, substantial, unique, hers.

"Not that." Carol shook her head. "Your first name."

Martinez coughed and Daryl cringed at the awkward reaction, wondering how long it had been since the last time the man had introduced himself properly, as a normal human being and not a soldier in warfare. Carol, working her magic. A few more hours, maybe a couple of days at best and she'd have that guy wrapped around her little finger. The moment Daryl realized he was wishing Martinez would hurry the hell up –fuck, was he jealous of the man who saved his life?- a wave of shame whooshed over him, but it did nothing to rinse the guilty contentment away. Martinez _would_ leave. And Daryl was relieved as he wasn't up for competition, not now. Truth was he wasn't up for anything right now. Only for living. Really living, not just surviving, and was looking forward for Martinez to hit the road so he could go ahead with it.

"Caesar."

Practically leaping at him, Carol locked her arms around his neck. "Thank you, Caesar. Thank you. We would be dead without you. I'll never be able to repay you for what you've done. I owe you everything."

Her gaze was glued on Daryl the entire time she spoke, piercing him through the protective glass, voice low, barely audible and he almost missed what she was saying. Almost. If he had felt a tad bad earlier for being jealous of Martinez, he now felt like a colossal jerk. Carol was his.

"Don't go losing your sleep for me, Carol. Not worth your time."

"I will and there's nothing you can do about it," she said with an emotional wave as he entered the jeep.

And just like that, the man with the double trait of being both their enemy and their savior drove away.

She followed the cloud of dust until the car was out of sight, Daryl stalking her tiniest reaction in the meanwhile. Dipping her head, she returned to the truck and positioned herself behind the steering wheel, avoiding his eyes.

"You know we ain't goin' anywhere right now, don't you?" he said, reaching out for her wrist. "Gonna be pitch black in less than half an hour."

Exhaling shakily, she pursed her lips, knuckles turning white around the cold leather before she fired up the engine. "But Caesar-"

"Caesar's a big boy," he cut her off calmly, hand rubbing her arm. "I'm sure he has his plans. We, on the other hand, don't. It's too much of a risk goin' back now and I can't fight."

"I can and we're not that far away."

"You look like you were run over by a truck. You need to rest."

"All I need is to get back to the prison."

"We're holin' up in the car," he droned in the same quiet, patronizing tone, not quite able to put his finger on the source of her oozing agitation. Two minutes earlier she was sweet and serene, ushering Martinez to his car, and now she sputtered like a spitfire, snippy and on edge. It wasn't just fatigue, it was more complicated; as if she was pissed at him on top of being caring and concerned. "Somethin' happens, we hit the road. I'm fine. Can't drive around in the dark with the head lights on. Makes the easiest movin' target since the dawn of time."

"You're not in a position to tell me what to do," Carol bristled. "You can barely move."

Fuck. "Calm down, will you?"

Turning the engine off, she braced herself on the elbows. "Jesus, Daryl. What were you thinking jumping in front of that bullet like that?"

There it was.

Heaving a sigh, he lightly banged his head against the window. Jesus fuck, he was exhausted, too worn to summon a decent amount of courage to put the sloppy ruminations of his racking mind into a meaningful order. Not while all his concentration was channeled to tether the pain on his side and it was taking him everything he had not to pass out and scare her shitless again. Why had he jumped? Which part of the answer wasn't clear? "You really are an idiot, Carol. You're such an idiot we need a whole new word to describe what an idiot you are."

"I'm the idiot here?" He almost heard the switch in her head flip then. "Follow the rules -that's what you taught me! Don't show fear, pick your battles and don't die," she recited fluently with pungent emphasis, rambling almost hysterically. "Don't lunge at the Governor, don't jump in front of a bullet, don't get yourself killed for nothing. Don't forget the rules!"

"I didn't forget any god damn rules! I just couldn't fuckin' follow them!"

There.

"And you got shot!"

Shit.

"It's the fuckin' end of the world. People get shot all the time. Ain't the first, won't be the last."

Suddenly, she seemed devoid of any vestiges of strength. "No," she chanted, fervently chafing her eyes with the heels of her hands. "No, no, no, no. People trip and sprain an ankle. People nip a finger chopping onions. People don't get shot. And I was supposed to save you this time, not the other way around."

"You did sa-"

There was a guttural rustle, her stomach jolted and cheeks puffed. The driver's door flung open and Carol keeled over on all fours, puking stomach fluids. Unfed as she was, it only made her retching even more abrasive to witness. Regurgitative spasms perforated her frame as she hacked and gasped for air.

"Fuck." Fingers flicking the knob, he shoved his door, rooting one leg on the ground. When he bustled to jump out, though, everything went black momentarily and he leaned heavily on the bench, woozy and queasy. "Fuck."

Fumbling through the contents of her saddle bag next to him, he finally dredged out a small bottle of water. He sincerely believed she'd crawl back inside when she scrambled up on her feet, but instead she opted to unsheathe her knife and lurch at a single walker who had just spotted them, ignoring his hollering her name.

"Get back here." A worn hand ran across his eyes. "Get the fuck back here."

Fuck.

He was plopped there, decrepit and fuckin' invalid, loitering over nothing while Carol had delved into an aimless killing spree, plunging the blade in right to the hilt repeatedly in the smashed face of the stray geek, eyes prying around for another walking corpse. He wanted to throw a shitstorm of temper at her about how disappointed she looked when she didn't detect any other movement, but dashed the impulse down despite himself.

Epic, god damned epic, clusterfuck.

Plucking her knife out, she squatted away from the rotten mass, sucking a few stabilizing breaths. He waited there, dragging his left leg out too until he was half in and half out of the vehicle. Testing for a stance that'd make the combining pains of a bullet wound and a couple of broken ribs less insufferable, he finally reined his anger as she staggered her way back, circled the car and snagged the bottle he held.

Gurgling a few mouthfuls of water until the tart taste rinsed away, she eyed him innocently, shoring up in the curve of the door and truck's chassis and made an unsuccessful effort to joke. "At least I stopped crying. That's a good thing, right?"

Wasn't that true? Sometime during the ride, that creepy avalanche of droplets streaming down her face had eventually dried out, much to Daryl's and Martinez's alleviation. "Damn you, Carol, you're such a goddamn diva," he chortled despite himself. "Always scaring the shit outta me and the one fuckin' time I'm the damsel in distress you're bitchin' at me."

Plastering a fake smirk that was more of a grimace and did nothing to soften her taut expression, she grabbed his hand and spilled a few pills from the stash Martinez had left on the dashboard. "Swallow these and stop fighting me. You try dying on me again out here, in the middle of nowhere, I swear I'll kill you."

"You did everythin' right, don't you get it?" he said softly, downing all the pills at once. "Manipulated the Governor, killed him, killed Shumpert. And you _did_ save me."

"Caesar saved you," she groused, pulling something out of her pocket. "Dug this out." The fisted palm spread slowly, revealing a bullet.

It took him a second to catch up with her train of thought, eyes skittering between the bullet and Carol's hollow gaze before she stuffed it back inside her pocket. "You both did. Stop beatin' yourself up. You did well. You-"

"Just… stop, ok? I can't process it right now." His hand yanked out to grasp her wrist, but she sidestepped him and rounded the truck. "I need to get you to the prison, know you're safe and sound behind the walls. The rest can wait."

He complied easily, though begrudgingly. She was freaking out, blaming herself for the fact that he got shot, indulged in the same self-battering he would have lost himself into had things ended up differently. She had been perfect, fuckin' perfect back in that cabin, although he was involuntarily compromising her efforts. She had been _him _back there. No. She had been so much stronger than him; she had been what he was supposed to be. He had fucked up, gave his own bluff away when he called her expendable and still went ballistic the moment the Governor made a move on her and Carol had saved the day no matter what.

Now she was embracing insanity, words and actions coming out unhinged, but surprisingly enough, there was no need for further justification. Not this time. He had been in her shoes more than once, identified the feeling. She had saved him, just like he had saved her countless times. And now she was accusing herself and lashing out at him for failing to keep him safe from danger in the first place. Wasn't that what he had always done? Barking at her for getting in jeopardy simply because he had been too late to prevent it?

Carol was back inside in a flash, fingertips tensely tapping the dashboard. Despite his best intentions he couldn't fight somnolence for long. He meant to stay awake, keep watch and make sure she at least dozed for a while, but it wasn't long after she was settled in the driver's seat before he started to nod off. And when she tugged him in her lap, peremptorily ignoring his objections, he drifted instantly. His eyes didn't flutter again until the engine revved to life and the truck started rolling on the gravel soil at the crack of dawn. She smiled as he looked upat her heavy-lidded, but didn't utter a single word, lassitude glistening in her gaze that was growing more and more hollow, undeniable proof that she hadn't slept for a moment.

Daryl sighed.

* * *

Swearing loudly, he scuffled in vain with the sleeve of Martinez's shirt. God damn paisley had outlasted everything since ancient Mesopotamia and beamed through a time slot in the walker apocalypse with the sole purpose of vexing him. Cleaned up with new bandages and all as he was, putting on his clothes again was nothing short of an ordeal, like a dozen demons lurked to spear every organ of his torso with their trident. The tiniest move ignited groans of pain.

Let alone the boots… He had almost flopped on the concrete struggling tooth and nail to double over enough to force his foot inside without actually doubling over, because, well, he had a bullet wound and broken ribs and shit and was tempted to weep like a toddler every time the mere thought of doubling over crossed his mind. And that was just the first boot… The second was still leering at him, mutely poising the wry challenge.

Sure he was too proud to ask for help to get dressed again after Rick and Hershel helped him clean up and they had probably assumed he'd stay in bed anyway, but so what? So fuckin' what? Weren't they supposed to ask anyway? What happened to common fuckin' courtesy? What if he felt like taking a walk? Was he supposed to strip and run around naked?

Damn Carol and her knack at scaring the crap out him. As if disappearing in thin smoke was only natural to her, nobody had any info to provide for her whereabouts since she left the common room. And Rick was as good as dead to him right now. Why was it taking him so long to find her? They didn't need a god damn radar to locate her. It was Carol for fuck's sakes. Carol, a whole person, legs, arms and everything, not a needle in the haystack. What kind of collective stupidity was that haven't-seen-her-for-a-while bullshit?

Fuck. As if he hadn't attracted the spotlight after threatening everyone, she now wanted him to gad about, high with meds, uncoordinated and bleary, with one sleeve and one boot on, tumbling down the staircase that would definitely cost him his life right now like the local madman? Fine. She wanted him to meander about like the pussy whipped asshole he was? Just fuckin' awesome. He'd do that. What if he had just about died? Carol was in the market for hide and seek. He'd play hide and seek.

He was a worked up bundle of huffs and puffs when the makeshift drapery swinging from the doorway elevated and Carol stepped inside. Right, now he had to undress again. Universe had such a twisted sense of humor.

"Rick said you wanted to see me." A smile, a sweet one and the foundations of his anger were set on fire. "Going somewhere?" She hurried to his bunk and helped him out of the garment when he jerked his hand to toss away the shirt and winced in pain, scrupulously hanging it around the nearby chair.

"Check on you," he bit out, glowering down on her the best he could. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Took a long shower is all." They locked gazes as she crouched in front of him, pawing the heel of the unlaced boot. "Relax or this is gonna hurt." Inhaling deeply, he canted back on his palms; his general discomfort that the redundant task of toeing off a shoe had become something otherworldly difficult snared effectively behind gritted teeth as he finally assented to her. The boot was out with one fluid motion and he released a hiss, idly wondering how the fuck he had put it on in the first place. "Better now?" Carol, smiling; dissipating his anger.

On another account, though… Carol, smiling; eyes sunk like a bottomless well. The grey-tinged circles engulfing her gaze no more than a few hours earlier shading into blackish and Daryl examined her cautiously, adamant that he, his shiners and his blood loss looked healthier than her. That was what it took for his anger to altogether sputter and die away. "Why ain't you sleepin'?"

She shrugged and stood up, blushing under the raw emotion of his gaze. "Beats me."

He didn't care anymore. Pain or not, exhaustion or not, he was done procrastinating. Lost opportunities, bottled up confessions, unuttered declarations were piling up and the longer this situation dwindled the more it slacked. They postponed things and then they died and it was too late to make any difference and his ego or protective walls or scars or insecurities just didn't really matter anymore. They didn't need time to break free from this infinite regress of constantly tiptoeing around each other, they just needed each other.

The decision was made and he wouldn't budge, not now. If Carol could snatch him back from hell, he could coax her back to him. She'd been standing right there since last night and he had still cranked out ways to blow everything up for Christ's sakes.

"Come here." Fiddling with the loops of her pants, he pulled her between his legs. "You need to rest," he whispered, hands mounting her waist.

She sucked an inward breath, gazing at him with sheer incredulity for the boldness of the physical contact and dodged the topic. "No rest for the wicked. I'm gonna have to spend the rest of my life on the watch tower, make sure Caesar's not getting shot in case he shows up."

"Don't worry about him anymore." Voice calm and comforting, hands groping her sides. "We had a lil'… chat in the common room earlier, after you left. Let's just say we're all on the same page now."

"Is everyone alive?"

She had her qualms and Daryl smirked. "For now, yes. Decision's made. He shows up, we deal with him your way. Rick agrees and no one has a fuckin' say in this. That's clear to everybody."

"Thank you."

"Caesar's your business and people are gonna have to suck it, like it or not. What you say goes."

"Uh-huh."

"You want him in, he stays. You want him out, he leaves. You want him dead, he bites the dust."

"In."

"Good. I want him in too. In the meanwhile, ain't nobody gonna bug you or mess with you or try to be a smartass about it.

"Okay."

"And you don't have to do any explainin' to anyone. In fact, don't you even dare. You're done explainin' yourself. You want him, he stays, end of story."

"Deal."

"If I catch you explainin' or apologizin' or feelin' guilty you best find a deep hole to hide 'cause I'll kick your ass."

"Sounds fair."

Satisfied with the outcome of their bargaining, yet disappointed that she hadn't touched him a bit even though his unrefined caress never faltered, Daryl let slip a sigh of apprehension.

Carol scooted closer then, her own breathing accelerating. "Are you in pain?"

"Not unless I try breathin' or somethin' wild crazy like that," he murmured faintly, leaning in her collarbone. Gentle fingers instantly massaged his temples, decompressing the spot from the jostling vibration beneath and he soughed with relief instead of pain for the first time since what felt like eternity. Carol, soft and tender. But stiff. "Don't worry, Hershel has me stoned just fine. Waitin' for the meds to take effect as we speak."

"What did he say?"

"That you did one hell of a job with the wound. Cleanin' it, stitchin' it, sterilizin'-"

She laughed and nuzzled in his hair, hands kneading the sore muscles of his nape. "About you. What did he say about you?"

"That I have recovery ahead, but I'm gonna be as good as new." Tilting his head again, he sought for her eyes; rough seas smeared with scarlet taints of weariness staring at him through a misty veil. "Don't cry," he said. "Everything's alright."

Eyelashes batted in frenzy, working overtime to blink away the unshed combers of tears and Carol remained silent, too overwhelmed with emotion to trust her voice.

Taking her hand in his then, Daryl let something linger right in the middle of her palm. "You forgot that back there."

Gawking at the object blankly for what seemed like forever, Carol shook her head half in denial and half in disbelief. "I hate this bullet," she confided like a guilty child caught with both hands in the cookie jar, eyeing him skittishly in anticipation of a chastisement that never came. "That's why I kept it, to remember that there's nothing in the world I hate more than this bullet. It was meant for me and I hate that it almost killed _you. _I even hate you, just a little bit, for getting in the way." He was still holding her hand, nodding encouragingly and there were fingers again, fingers combing his unkempt hair, fingers shunting away overgrown wisps, fingers sequestering the suffering, fingers replenishing the gap with comfort. Carol's touch. She huffed a laugh deprived of any funny timbre and her voice jiggled out husky and contorted. "First you call me expendable and then you go and do… this."

Eyes goggling towards the bullet and then back to her, Daryl deadpanned, hoping that the complete lack of ornament elucidated the sincerity of his declaration. "Ain't that proof enough that I didn't mean that bullshit? You ain't expendable. Not to me."

It was evident that she believed him, maybe even knew before he bothered to refute it, but it was also evident that something still pestered her. "And you think you are to me?" she sniffled. "You almost died because of me."

"My choice. Not your fault, _my choice_. This motherfucker was goin' straight to your heart."

"Better in mine than yours." Carol wiped her eyes and shoved the bullet inside her pocket with a gesture mimicking the one of the previous night. Gestures identical as two peas in the pod, but sentiment significantly different.

This is how it was going to be then from now and on. Never expendable _to_ each other, always _for_ each other. This wasn't clever, this wasn't survival instinct; this was a suicide mission, a death wish even more ominous that the one she permanently harbored. Then again, this is how it already was for a while now, just the reality between them. And there was no talking either of them out of this death trap. That die was cast long ago. It was a hex cast on them and it was worth living through it.

Daryl stared at her with an unprecedented intensity; gaze sizzling in feral, crude desire prowled stealthily her haunted mien as her chest bobbed up and down from the accumulating tension in the air between them. Carol regarded him groggily, arms dangling laxly by her sides. "What are you doing?" she gasped, the shaky breeze winnowing Daryl's stubble.

Inching closer to the edge of the mattress, his arms wrapped around her. He ignored the lump impending his breath and the almost ubiquitous ache -it was nothing compared to the aching urge for her. "I had my near death experience, you know. Tunnels, bright lights, epiphanies, the full damn package deal."

"And?" She felt her knees betraying her, mind shutting down and breath hitching instantly as he hauled her closer.

"And I don't wanna be immune to second chances, Carol," he rasped. Words clogged up in her throat and he knew she was dizzier than him when he straightened up all he could to level with her. "You're gonna make me stretch till I bust the fuckin' stitches, ain't you?"

It wasn't until he groaned in pain due to the biting physical exertion that Carol waved the haziness off and gave into him.

He was certain and eager for the next step, the one that had only anchored with great delay, but she was tentative, still holding back, regarding him warily like he was nothing more than a hallucination about to vanish any moment now as she cupped his face with both hands. Not a grip, not a firm hold, just a whisper touch. Palms ghosting over the unkempt stubble, barely tickling the coarse skin beneath, thumbs dabbing the shiners crowning his aflame gaze. His neck craned back, hers bent over; lips grazing the corner of his, hurling electrical currents to wobble heatedly beneath every nerve of his body. He shuddered at the contact, mouth trembling from desire to reciprocate the caress of the one hovering above his, cracking open just a slit to inhale her scorching breath that lagged the wheels in his head. There was no pain anymore, even the notion of it rang alien; it had evanesced briskly, ostracized at the outskirts of his mind, a howl tamed by the thunderous drumming of his heart.

If Carol hated that bullet, he hated the terror that same bullet had kindled inside her. It wasn't vocalized, but radiated from every pore of her body. After three days of fighting for his life, after a night of endless waiting, after a long ride back and the heartfelt exchange in his cell, she still dreaded that his presence wasn't real. Hard to tell which one was more unnerving; her debility to consent to how alive and fleshy he was or her reluctance to refrain from the riddle and give up on him. Mettle laced with fear in a chokehold as she strived to decipher reality from dreams and all he could do to ground her was to wait, scribbling abstract patterns on her back.

The exploration relinquished when his lips twitched, moving beneath hers despite the vehement orders he mentally hollered for the opposite. He yearned for this kiss with a tremor common only in sick people craving their cure and couldn't resist the sough that rustled through his lips. She drew back just a notch, stormy gaze transfixed on the craving undulation of his mouth and his arms steeled around her on pure instinct to hamper a possible retreat. Flush against his chest, she squirmed to back away when he winced in pain, but the curved biceps flexed, clamping vice-like.

"Don't go," he soothed, voice rippling with emotion. "I'm fine."

She smiled then, free from any shackles even when suspended in his unyielding embrace; a dimple curving the corner of her mouth as she stooped over him one last time and a set of parted lips fully blanketed his.

A slow burn it was, a first kiss bestirring and reaching its crescendo like a volcano eruption. Omnipotent natural forces awakening as he peppered her with fleeting pecks until she shivered and reeled out of balance, writhing like a spineless heap of sinews in his embrace. Fingers worming around his skull, grabbing fistfuls of hair and the temperature mauled up slowly as he snaked a hand around her neck, lowering her more. Practically assaulting her, Carol melted into him, lips pliant beneath a seducing mouth that kept moving over hers until she was enticed along his passionate dance. Daryl was at the helm of it, greedy to savor the precious taste but she was kissing him back with reciprocal zest, equally insatiable, lava slithering from the brim of the crater as their tongues glided together. They moaned in sync when Carol caught up with his frantic pace and nibbled his lower lip, prevailing in the joust for dominance, a full-fledged, all-engulfing catastrophe leaving nothing but smoldering embers in its wake.

Kind of clumsy, kind of inept, timid and plucky at the same time, definitely unique like the bond they shared. And it was kind of romantic actually, confiding to no definition of how a first kiss presumably unravels. They weren't normal, he and Carol; they were freaks. They didn't talk to, or look at, or treat each other in the same way other people did with their significant others; societal and behavioral norms ricocheted off them. It only made sense for their kiss to equally deviate from the pattern. For other people, a kiss was the beginning; for them it was the finish line –a pact signed and sealed with wax.

"You love me," she panted with an ear to ear grin. No question mark, no doubt; just a statement, like a random comment about the weather.

Still relishing with the aftermath of their exploding reunion and beyond grateful for her prowess to read between his lines and decrypt any code he transmitted, Daryl grinned back, forehead resting against hers. "Finally, lil' Carol catchin' up with the rest of the classroom."

"I thought I lost you," she hummed in his mouth. "I can't lose you. I love you too."

He grew serious then, brow furrowed, voice hoarse and breaths still erratic. "I would have razed Georgia from the surface of earth had anythin' happened to you."

It was Carol that attacked his mouth this time and he snuggled her closer, licking a moist trail across her jawline until they could barely move, as if the level of physical proximity he longed for was inherently unattainable.

He was still awake when the curtain lifted and Maggie entered his cell carrying a tray. If she was startled to be acknowledged by Daryl holding Carol's sleeping form, she didn't give it away, opting for a warm smile instead.

"I'll just leave this on the table and go bring hers here too, ok?" she whispered, receiving a nod. "And maybe bring here all her meals from now on?" Another nod.

* * *

_**Thank you for reading :) **_

_**What do you think? I tried to do justice to all the characters and give you everything you wanted: Martinez/Carol friendship, Martinez/Daryl bromance, Daryl going ballistic to defend Carol and tons of Caryl fluffiness. **__**AffairWithACrossbow**__** says that **_**_reviews are like chocolate chip cookies, always welcome and greatly appreciated! May I add that I can never have enough of either, cookies or reviews? So, warm my Caryl heart with a little feedback :)_**

**_Have a wonderful month! Hugs!_**

**_P.S. perfectvelvet has been a friend, beta, sounding board, therapist etc., etc. throughout this looooong chapter._**


	48. Falling In Love

**Submission for 4theloveofCARYL writing challenge, a one-shot song fic. Selected song: "I Can't Help Falling In Love With You" by Elvis Priestley.**

_**Hey everyone,**_

_**Long time no see! I missed you all, my friends, and I'm finally back :) Thank you for the support and the kind words, I'm so grateful even if I have neglected once again to write back to you!**_

_**About fics recommendation, I'm a horrible reader and don't know half the stories that are out there, but some of my favorites right now are: "Kiss From A Rose" by **__**AffairWithACrossbow**__** for AU lovers, "Lightning Only Strikes One" by **__**the ramblin rose**__** about the time jump between season 2 and season 3, "Something is ending and something begins" by **__**Challia**__** and "Overcoming Loneliness" by **__**vickih**__** for those fond of complicated relationships and love triangles/quadrangles. **__**Peta2**__** has an abundance of impeccable fics and **__**perfectvelvet**__**'s "Shelter from the Storm" is amazing.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

Through a dreamy haze, still fighting with a stubbornly evading peaceful sleep, Carol vaguely perceives rather than actually hears the makeshift drapery being lifted. A flash of dim light shreds inside the barred entrance of her cell. No other sound wriggles the hush of the slumbered prison except the muffled thud of a boot coming into contact with the concrete floor.

"Daryl?"

There is no verbal response, not the slightest acknowledgement that she has fittingly identified her late night visitor. Just a gasp, one single shaky inhalation of air, never followed by the mechanical technicality of exhalation as if the sound of his name somehow blindsides him, as if she isn't supposed to guess right, to know who he is in the pitch black darkness of the wee hours.

Groping the tiny nightstand next to her cot, she gets the matches swiftly and the lantern is lightened in a heartbeat. The yellow flame brightens up the penumbra of her cell and they suddenly find themselves staring at each other.

Her gaze, tentative and explorative, piercing him like a spear. It doesn't hurt, however, even though it penetrates his heart. He shrivels, shoulders hunching just a peg. Nude he feels, stripped. Full of scars inside out. Visible and invisible. The intensity of her inquisitive look is just a tad too much and his eyes skim down to his worn boots. Nothing particular happened to trigger his trudging down here. He has no reasons, no excuses.

He has nothing. Always had nothing. Why it was tonight, tonight out of every other night that this encumbrance became insufferable is beyond his grasp. He wouldn't have come if he could rationally mull it over. But he couldn't. Feet bestowed a whole free will of their own, never pausing until towing step after step to lead him out of the comfort zone of his cell and straight into hers.

Like an empty vessel he stands; humiliated, growing more and more nervous under Carol's concerned gaze.

"What's wrong?" she whispers.

He shakes his head, eyes downcast. _Nothing_. Can't she hear it?

"Is everything ok?"

He nods, never glancing up. _Yeah, fuckin' perfect_. Can't she hear it?

"Are _you_ ok?"

Teeth gritted, he almost groans from an inhumane effort to dip his head in assertion. His body refuses to comply, though, an inside traitor it is as he's painfully aware of his head regressing right to left. _No._ He's not ok. Never has been.

Lured he is, spellbound by a siren's melodic song Carol never chanted.

He has nothing. But wants everything. Tonight. And after tonight, forever. He wants everything even though the mere wish echoes as unadulterated blasphemy in his raving mind. Dixons don't want. Dixons don't have. Dixons are loners. Dixons are survivors. And yet here he stands.

He's a pussy, a shameful smear in the notorious Dixon reputation. Dixons don't need people. And yet he does.

Dixons don't love, save from blood, save from each other. _Maybe_ each other. And yet he…

A watered down disgrace of his kin he is, ice thawing into liquid. He's weak, always has been. An ignominy. A blot. A disdain.

And yet, why so? He meant to ask Merle, why is it so wrong to care? Why caring is such an unforgivable weakness? Dixons aren't afraid of anything; why do they dread human bonds? Why are they condemned in solitude? But Merle died too soon. He, too, died too soon, as everyone else. Mother, father, Merle. Each one of them died too soon. And alone.

He doesn't want that for himself. He doesn't want to die alone. He wants more. He wants to fucking _deserve_ more. He wants to deserve everything. Every bit of what normal people call a life. He wants to deserve Carol.

She's standing too now and the hesitant step annihilating the distance between them makes him stiff. The mental command for him to abort and run for the hills evanesces before reaching his feet that remain plowed on the spot despite his volition, despite his better judgment.

"What do you need, Daryl?"

_Dunno_. Words clogged up in a sore throat, airway stuffed as a puff of withhold breath finally withers out. _Just couldn't get some shut eye –never can these days. So I kept pacing back and forth, checked the perimeter, people on watch duties, every god damn hallway, every lock and then I found myself here. What do I need? _

"Nothing."

A lucky motherfucker he is that Carol always skips the obvious follow-up questions. The why-are-you-here-if-you-have-nothing-to-say part. But he's exposed now, vulnerable. She knows, she hears. He's the one who plodded down the stairs to her cell in the dead silence of the cold night. She knows and suddenly he knows too, the truth of it dancing in two blazing flames, setting the blue ocean of her eyes in fire.

_What do I need? _

_You._

But there are no words to vocalize this urge, nothing articulate for a craving so primal and feral it can only be juxtaposed to an animalistic instinct for consummation.

"It's ok." Carol soothes, Carol understands.

No, it ain't ok. _Ain't nothing ok about me harassing your privacy without a proper excuse._

_But I need you._

Something was off tonight, something's been off for a while now. Sleepless nights with her in his mind piling up, weariness and somnolence taking over, sleep turning into a wishful thinking. He's weak. Mentally. Emotionally. His body orders and his mind denies. He's powerless. He has needs, instincts above sheer survival. He has desires, feelings. _I want. And I need what I want. _

_You._

"Sorry I woke you up," he mumbles and the rest tides away right on the tip of his tongue.

"I wasn't sleeping. Can't find peace these days, you know?"

He does. _Me neither._

Carol swallows hard, voice husky. "I need you, too."

She heard. She hears. The incoherent rambling of his mind. She hears. The frantic vault of his heart. She can't possibly, no way; but she still does. She hears. She knows, like she always does.

A hand, dainty and fragile and pale in the penumbra of the eerie light surges hesitantly to fill the space between them. They are standing across from each other, but in almost one foot distance, neither intervening in the personal space of the other. But that hand, that hand rooted to a twiggy arm, is soaring between them now, bridging the gap.

_Wise men say only fools rush in  
But I can't help falling in love with you_

A woman, a touch. How had he ever been convinced that this touch would be his greatest foe? It's Carol. Carol who knows, Carol who listened to the same cruel rants he did as a child but never allowed them to din inside her.

Why was Merle braver than Carol? How? Merle never strayed away from the designated path, originally mapped out without him _for_ him. Never questioned the rotten set of principals bequeathed to him, always heeded myopically. In which measuring system is that bravery and mettle and courage and strength? Carol surpassed herself time and time again. Carol spat fate square in the face, reevaluated everything, blossomed and thrived, put one foot in front of the other until overriding every single obstacle that impeded her march. How is she the coward here?

Carol wants. Still wants. After losing everything she still wants nothing less than that.

So does he.

He wants too and surprisingly enough, Merle's wry leer works no magic, has no power over him anymore. Merle can't hurt him, break him, offend him. What does Merle know? Merle is a coward, a carbon reflection of every other Dixon he ever met.

_Shall I stay? Would it be a sin?  
If I can't help falling in love with you_

Dixons were pussies. All of them. Every single one of them. And that's why they died alone. Their twisted worldview and reverse logic were only masking their deficiency, their incompleteness, their profound horror to open up and share a life with another human being.

Carol is brave, strong, daring. Carol is alive. She's here.

And so is he.

He has nothing. Never had. Not because he was a self-sufficient, brave hunter, but simply because he was a coward.

_Like a river flows surely to the sea  
Darling, so it goes_

Now he wants everything. He wants to need and have and take that leap of faith even if it goes hand in hand with him risking to lose whatever it is that matters to him. He wants to be brave enough to deserve this much.

And her touch is there. Flinching imperceptibly, he stays put nevertheless.

"Don't," she pleads. Soft fingertips ghost a tread over his arm and all the way up the toned bicep. "It's me."

Daryl nods, never averting his gaze. Beads of sweat are forming on his forehead and her hand locks now around the bulge of his forearm. She inches closer and his muscle responds with a flex beneath her grip. It's firm, but not a snare. Nothing he can't escape with a simple yank.

Nowhere he'd rather be anyway.

"Just me, Daryl."

_Some things are meant to be_

He's not leaving. Not now, not ever. This isn't the time for flight. It's the time for clenched jaws and balled fists and flaring nostrils. It's the time to fight tooth and nail for what he wants. Against his past, his scars, his demons, his fears. Against Merle. Against himself.

He nods again, repetitively, determinedly this time. All flustered up, his face is burning and he knows he's blushing a whole spectrum of crimson hues, but he's not embarrassed. Not now. If he looks like an idiot to a third, impartial observer, Daryl couldn't care less. Not now.

A single word, the plainest of them all claws up laboriously and slips through a rasp. "Yeah."

_Just you. And me._

He stays. He wants. Message conveyed.

Carol hears again; never, _ever_ letting him down.

"I want you," she says matter-of-factly and with a sharp inward breath whips off her shirt.

_Take my hand_

_Take my whole life too_

Topless, bare in front of him, holding her own fears and insecurities in tight rein. Brave. Despite his greedy gaze roving over her, mercilessly scrutinizing a long, diagonal scar lacerating her stomach and the round-shaped discolorations wreathing it –cigarette burns.

_I hate him. Hate what he did to you. _

Skinny due to malnutrition, frail due to hardship, beaten and marred due to infinite years of abuse and submissive compulsion –the misleading surface of appearances, bearing nothing more than vestiges of truth for the woman cloaked under the upper layer. A scrub of this first scalp and Carol pops up, emerging proud. Unbowed. Unsubdued. Uncompromising. A fire kindling silently, too strong and courageous to ever indulge to any vocal insult or temptation to sputter and die out without a rabid battle.

But she misinterprets his awe and consternation for revulsion. Sighing, she cringes at the sting of what feels like rejection, face drops and eyes slink downwards, welled with unshed tears. "Disgusting, I know."

It's her gut-wrenching defeat that ultimately goads him back to action. His hands jerk, curling around her wrists, lowering the hands that shot up to cover her nudity. "No." _Beautiful_.

_For I can't help falling in love with you_

She's regarding him shocked, mouth gaping in a rictus of startled alarm.

But she's wrong.

There's nothing for her to be afraid of, to shy away from. Certainly not him. Because he knows and accepts without negotiations and loves the sight before him.

All he has to do is make her hear again.

Protective walls, resistances crumble. Fears, shackles shatter. He belongs and there's no subtext lurking there. Because the moment he stops fighting the gravitational force spiraling him to crush on her, it only feels natural to unite with this woman. To belong to her.

He already does.

And he wants it. He wants everything.

_Like a river flows surely to the sea  
Darling, so it goes_

It's a mate connection they share. Daryl loves once and it never falters, that's just who he is. Devoted, zealot, with a heart dangling laxly from his sleeve. Years of warfare to protect it against any foe, any bond, any contact chucked away under her gaze. A lifetime wasted to shield his heart from getting hurt, so effectively, he could recall a time not so long ago that he doubted its very existence.

In vain. So much trouble, toil, fatigue over nothing. For a woman to stumble across his path and lace her sufferings with his, gouging them out of his chest. A Dixon, regarding a tiny creature with the same amazement as if encountering an omnipotent deity. The ownership of his god damn heart lost.

She hears. She knows.

Looking up at him is all it takes. She has faith, not in God, in him. She trusts, not God, him. She wrestles to overcome her fears, to take the risk and hand him her heart.

And so does he.

She's ready, has been for a while.

And so is he, finally.

_Some things are meant to be_

Meeting halfway isn't so hard, why did it take him so long to get there? It's inherent. Somewhat intrinsic in their personalities, maybe even beyond that; innate in the matching pace of two hearts racing in sync. It's Carol, damn it, his one true spot in the chaotic universe. He has found it. How many people can profess the same?

The grip around her wrists loosens up and her hands move to rest on his chest. Bending over her, he's brave, although his knees have turned to jelly and every single nerve is wobbling heatedly under his skin. Carol cranes her neck and there she is, breathing raggedly against his mouth as their lips brush together in a whisper kiss. Parched lips enveloping soft ones, enticing them in fluid sway. Ignorant as he may be, he's also impulsive now that the dam has fissured and torrents of passions gush unleashed. A nasal sough enters his mouth and he nearly loses his mind at the audible evidence of her delight. She's pleased and that's an accomplishment he holds in great prestige.

_Take my hand_

_Take my whole life too_

The thud of his hammering heart reverberates deafeningly in the confined space of a body suddenly too narrow to absorb the true vehemence of his emotion. Her palm vaults at the brunt of his galloping pulse and she gasps, only to receive a lopsided smirk in response as he stoops forward and tugs her closer in sickening need of her lips again. Fleeting pecks they mostly are, exploratory, experimental, peppering acceptance and drizzling with the urge for more. Pawing her ribcage, his flesh grazes the swell of her breasts, thumbs toying with her nipples, progressively hardening under his coarse palpation. Her hands worm a crawlway, caressing his neck, slowly ascending to cup his face in a feather touch, barely tickling the skin beneath the supple hairs of his cheeks.

He's crude and unrefined, bordering on savage, but she won't make fun of him and his ignorance. This little victory is of utmost importance for him now and trust for her to already know that. Not claiming dominance for herself, she allows him to be at the helm of it all, to do whatever he needs, whatever he wants since he's made crystal clear that, whatever this is, she's an inextricable part of it. And he leads, he's the man in charge, with a tiny help from her part whenever he's at a loss, lumbering blindly into uncharted territory.

_For I can't help falling in love with you_

Like the moment her arms snake around his nape and she's flush against his chest, slowly slithering her tongue in his mouth. It's his turn to gasp at the mesmerizing taste –one that words fails to elucidate-, lips cracking open just a slit to inhale her scorching breath that lags the wheels in his head. She lingers there, tracing a moist trail until he picks up on what's happening and grants her entrance, swirling his tongue with hers. Facial muscles rusty due to years trapped in a loveless marriage and soon she's striving to keep up with his exploding tempo, but he knows, he feels she's there, heart and soul, right in the kernel of their kissing, reciprocating his zest, equally insatiable and lustful.

More demanding he gets as time dwindles and loses its meaning, his mouth open and hers pliant as he nibbles her lower lip. He registers then, the abrasiveness of his scratchy stubble over the smooth surface of her skin.

"You'll get a rash," he mutters and the crinkling of a grin flickers above his teeth.

Carol chuckles. "And you somehow think I care…"

_For I can't help falling in love with you_

Shuddering head to toe, she melts into him, so ignorant of her unpretentious charm he swears he has never seen anything even remotely as sexy as her in his entire life. Snuggling her closer and closer, she mewls her frustration to further lessen the inexistent distance, as if the ultimate physical proximity is nowhere near satisfactory for the level of intimacy she yearns for. Her perky tits punctuate the curves of his chest through his shirt and he can't take it anymore, the lower part of his manhood jostles to bust out of his pants. He wants everything, he wants all of her and the multiple garments block the way.

His arm wedges between them, fumbling clumsily with the loops of his shirt. She retreats just a notch to help him unfasten his belt, breathing heavily, eyes groggy with overwhelming desire. He can't have her soon enough, he can't procrastinate with trivial technicalities like buttons, especially when they seem to self-propagate just to vex him. Cursing loudly he just rips the shirt open with one ferocious gesture and toes his boots off as the buttons clink, aimlessly hopping on the concrete floor. A mischievous smile sparkles in Carol's face and she never suspends eye contact, shimming out of her sweat pants and underwear. Both are tossed on the ground in an accelerated basis as neatness has plunged to the bottom of her priority list. Daryl grunts his aggravation, but finally he's out of the cloth cage, the threadbare shirt and pants toppling over hers.

Naked he is now. His scars full frontal.

He regards her guardedly, but Carol smiles.

And he wants everything.

Grabbing her waist, she's glued on him again. Brownish tan against freckled paleness, scorching lava against frigid ice, coarseness against delicacy. Contrasts woven together, complementing each other. Perfect, saturated bone deep in their mutual imperfection. Tangled together, they fit ideally, like fragments of the same shattered porcelain, ripe to break free from the broken clutter and form a whole new ornament all of their own. Parts of the same jigsaw in a pattern legible only to them as he saunters to the bunk, tagging her along.

Laying her on her back, he settles over her prone form. He's aroused; aroused beyond comprehension, his erection throbs, gliding down her clit in the soaked threshold of her vagina. He cusses himself under his breath, knowing he's heading square to an epic failure. "Doubt it's gonna be any good for you."

Reassurances he wants, every step of the way, and when a heaving laugh bounces off the confided walls he's positive that she's there to provide them generously. "Best not harbor great expectations yourself."

He's an idiot, worrying too much. All is good. And he's going to make it even better for her.

The world ebbs away and his whole existence zeroes in on this woman who has him wrapped around her little finger without even trying, the only woman that ever coerced him to long for her with a tremor common only in sick men seeking their cure. Littering her with kisses across her jaw line, he wanders down her neck, sucking it greedily to what will be a shiny hickey for everyone to witness tomorrow. She giggles at the ticklish sensation and grips his skull, clutching fistfuls of overgrown hair. Lower he descends and hovers across the sensitive flesh of her breasts. Her purrs morph into moans when his tongue flicks out to twirl around her nipples, hurling waves of ecstatic joy all over her body. Enchanted into droning his name on and on like a mantra, Carol releases a full volume euphoric shriek, flapping like a spineless heap of sinews. Sharp teeth dig absently in her lower lip to muzzle whatever high-pitched timbres are still mauling up her throat and she winces in pain as the metallic pang of blood flooded her mouth. Daryl's mouth covers hers in a flash, his wet tongue dawdling to lick the rupture, sucking it dexterously until the sting subsides.

Obeying his throaty command to look at him, her eyes flutter open arduously and ogle him lasciviously through a crevice; bleary vision and woozy mind transfixed on the cerulean gaze staring right back at her. The quake of her lower belly throws him over the edge and the bulge between his thighs vibrates, aflame and harder than an igneous rock as a heart pounding overtime pumps consecutive crests of seething blood into his shaft. He mutely implores for permission to enter and she nods, eyeing him adoringly as she repositions and arches her back in a proper angle, legs stretching to provide him unobstructed access.

Years it has been for both of them. This is no joke, no cinch, no walk in the park. He has no idea how _not_ to hurt her and he resents himself for this stark nescience.

"Carol, this is gonna-"

"Don't worry. I want you."

She wants him.

"It's okay, Daryl. We're fine."

And he wants her. He wants everything, every little cell of her body to surrender to him, once and for all. Later he can make up for the inflicted pain. Later he will make up for anything.

The first attempt to slide inside her is unfruitful. He's too gentle despite his beastly urge and he knows he loves her right in that moment, because he cares for her well-being more than he does for his own. Her tightness is pungent and shuts him out. Framing her face, he looks at her remorsefully; no painless detour around this.

"Please, Daryl."

But she shouldn't beg, not for this. There's nothing he wants more.

The next thrust is fiercer as he propels forward, worming a lane right to the hilt of his crotch. Her breath hitches and, despite her honest efforts to plaster a pokerface, he sees the serene countenance contorting into distress and stills for a second until she looks more at ease with their posture.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Squirming to curve a leeway for his erections inside her pussy, he mentally scolds himself for how hard he still is despite the previous fiasco.

Her fingers are all over him, stroking soothing circles, her voice sweet against his earlobe. "Don't be. I want this."

She lugs her weight off the mattress then until she's floating and there's nothing but the unyielding prop of his palm to cant her upwards, nail chafing a catwalk in his back. His eyes roll in the back of his head at the way she's thrashing beneath him and he bursts in a whimpering squirm of sheer need and craving only to be hushed immediately when her mouth assaults his again, dictating a slow, passionate pace, lips flexing and tongues waltzing, twiddled in a sultry choreography as he convulses time and time again.

This won't last, not with mind-blowing way she bulks back, clamped around him like a spider, rocking and undulating sleekly. The friction escalates and the apex of their first pairing is adjacent. Why did he neglect to let her know that this is only the beginning for them?

"I- I can't hold-" he growls.

"It's okay, honey."

It's okay. She knows. And she loves back.

Capturing his parted lips moments before he reaches his crescendo, she devours him mercilessly and Daryl comes inside her with an otherworldly, guttural groan that chars her mouth. An all-engulfing orgasmic wave whooshes over him as his surroundings immerse in an opaque fogginess and Carol's name slurs out in a raspy sound. Still trembling with the aftershocks of his climax, he sags atop her and they're panting in unison as he struggles to brace himself on a set of quivery elbows and permit her chest to billow. Two slender veins tingle across his temples and salty droplets spring down his entire body, drenched strands of hair spraying wetness on the shining sheen of sweat already blanketing her skin. He grins despite his poor performance because the first step is the hardest and Carol smiles back drowsily as shaking fingers shunt the unruly wisps behind his ear.

She's beaming, with a jubilant glistening no human being should be granted and combers of happiness ooze off her every pore. "Not that bad, right?"

Rolling over, he draws a few stabilizing inhalations to compose himself and drags her over until her chin burrows in the center of his sternum. "You tell me."

She flounders, forehead wrinkling in the prowl of the words that won't have him fleeing and he knows it's his fault that she's concerned that this was just a booty call, a one-night stand and now that he scratched his itch and stuck his wood, he will vanish. Only she couldn't be more mistaken as she's eyeing him sheepishly. "To me- To me, it was great."

What a colossal fibber she is, unabashedly blurting out such a lie. And she has yet to figure out how to properly be one, to control the frantic bat of her eyelashes that give her away.

He doesn't mind, though. He means business. He'll get better, practice makes perfect and he wants everything. And he's not leaving. Not now. Not ever.

"We have a long way to make it great… to you," he avows, eyebrows quirking in an ellipse almost tangent to his hairline, a thumb scribbling slanting trims on her cheek and, Jesus fuck, her grin turns wider as if this is even possible.

Caught with both hands in the cookie jar, she shrugs it off quickly. "I have time," she hums and a wicked twinkle darkens her gaze. "Maybe we should do that more often."

It's just a suggestion, but the looming question mark gnarls her tone.

"We should do that every god damn day," he drawls pointedly, lips twitching in a teasing smile and suddenly he flops over above her, stifling her squeal with his mouth. "Hell, maybe twice a day."

He wants everything. And everything he has.

* * *

_**That was different but I really hope you didn't hate it… I tried to make it intimate but realistic :)**_

_**This collection of shorts is heading to the end. No more than a couple of stories which means 2 or 3 chapters more and then TLOS will be archive material… Ok, I better stop talking about wrapping up this fic before I get too emotional! We couldn't go on forever, could we? *crumples up on the corner***_

_**Also, would you do me a favor? Please let me know which story/ies of this collection is/are your favorite/s. Like the one that touched you the most or the one you went back and re-read. Just a little treat for me to make me happy :) So… last chances to review/favorite/follow! **_

_**Hugs and Caryl on!**_

_**DWB**_

_**P.S. The last banter: "Maybe we should do that more often." - "We should do that every god damn day. Hell, maybe twice a day" isn't mine. I stomped across a request for their first time to end with these lines while surfing in the internet (I have no idea where I found it and whose inspiration it was…) and I just liked the idea :)**_


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